


memories of light and green

by sitandadmire



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Aesthetic walking, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Artist Louis, Barebacking, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Oscar Wilde, Love Letters, Love Poems, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Outrageous clothing, Period-Typical Homophobia, Smoking, The end is still happy I promise!!, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 12:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12481848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitandadmire/pseuds/sitandadmire
Summary: “You have all of me,” Louis whispered softly, but clearly. His mouth was so close again that Harry could see his lips moving with each new word. “Please know this and remember it well every day that I’m away.”Or: The year is 1880. After the sudden passing of his beloved uncle, 24 year old Harry Styles inherits the property left behind. Together with his mother Anne, sisters Gemma and Mabel, and their dog Rufus, he relocates from London’s dark and winding streets to the Cheshire countryside. It isn’t long before he falls in love with the fresh air, the horses, and wandering through the gardens. Anything that keeps his mind off of his own future.Years later, with questions still left unanswered, Harry runs into Louis Tomlinson: the man and artist he’d only ever heard of through Gemma’s drawn out stories. From lazy afternoons to a dinner party at the infamous Malik estate and an end-of-summer ball by invitation of Lady Stewart, Harry soon finds himself on another journey - feeling confused and drawn to Louis’ presence more than he imagined possible. A Late Victorian AU about life and death, and all the days in between, featuring floral suits, moonlight kisses, and a puppy (or two).





	memories of light and green

**Author's Note:**

> EEEEEE. Thank you first and foremost to the ever lovely [Nina](https://pattern-pals.tumblr.com), without whom this story wouldn't exist. Thank you for daring to share your beautiful work of [art](https://pattern-pals.tumblr.com/post/166775504185/you-have-all-of-me-louis-whispered-softly-but), something that clearly means a lot to you, for your willingness to help and put up with my persistent messages <3, and for your excitement which helped me through trying to put my thoughts on paper. 
> 
> Also to [Sam](https://britpickerhl.tumblr.com) and [Katherine](https://maybe-jamesbond.tumblr.com) for their time and energy spent on this fic with me. I appreciate every comment and constructive bits of criticism and especially the British insight from Sam. It would still be a hot mess without either of you. :~) And of course to the mods in charge who organized an incredible challenge for everyone! 
> 
> A few disclaimers: this is a work of fiction for personal use, has nothing to do with One Direction and/or associated, I am not from 19th century England and not a British historian by any means, so there are obvious creative liberties taken and details glossed over for the sake of time. However, I still set out to make this story as accurate and visual as possible.
> 
> I excluded much of Louis' family and Harry's from this story, in light of recent events and all of the names for Louis' siblings have been changed. There are a couple of religious references, but it's hardly a theme, which is why I chose not to tag it. I also drew from politics of the time and include a couple of outside links in the end note. Please understand that certain parts of this fic are not simply angst for angst sake, but an homage to real people that very much lived in this time. 
> 
> Rest in Peace to Oscar Wilde and thank you for your brilliance and resilience.  
> x  
>  ****  
> ✿[tumblr masterpost](https://birdstattoo.tumblr.com/post/166797853408/memories-of-light-green-ao3-written)  
>  ✿ [story tag/inspiration](https://birdstattoo.tumblr.com/tagged/memories%20of%20light%20and%20green)  
> 

**I.  
** **  
****Mistmoore Estate**  
**Holmes Chapel, England**  
**March 1883**

**PROLOGUE**

Early morning sunlight cascaded down through the full-leafed trees, scattering beams across the field of Lady’s Smock flowers, their petals pink and round, before disappearing into the soil. Harry’s feet felt heavy against the moist earth with every careful step, his body gently swaying to avoid destruction of the fragile plants, and to pass the yellow butterflies fluttering about.

He could barely sleep during the night, tossing and turning fitfully once again, eventually pushing his sheets clear off the edge of the silk mattress with his feet and onto the floor. Harry tried everything to ward off the demons; a warm glass of cow’s milk, washing his face with water and a soft cloth from the basin on the opposite side of the room, even staring at his ghastly looking reflection in the window as if there was anything unusual to see.

The ruffled, brunette hair atop his head, once a longer length and always tucked behind the ear, was short and quietly turning itself into small waves. His neck felt cold. Harry was starting to enjoying it, but sometimes, with the way it exposed the angles of his face, he didn’t recognise himself. The scar above his lip was visible. His eyes were the same as ever except, in the shine of night, they looked glossy and hollow.

Nothing could still him.

He finally resigned himself to not lying down at all and got dressed, tiptoeing down the hallway and through the house to the lion’s head.

Then, he slipped out into the open air.

It was true Harry felt a brilliant tinge of air against his exposed chest and his hands, no matter which way he turned them to examine the lines, slowly losing track of time. Yet there was nothing so sharp like the twinge inside his chest upon hearing the unexpected sound of urgent hooves beating on gravel.

Harry stopped walking, turning his head back in the direction of the main house and squinted slightly. His eyes landed on the carriage being driven up the path by a pair of dark and determined horses. Hot, working breaths shot from their noses almost like locomotive steam.They trotted past the front entrance, creating the momentary and worrying illusion that the carriage would begin to draw harsh tracks over the grass, past the shallow garden, and destroy everything surrounding Harry until -

It stopped abruptly with no road left.

The door swung open, but he couldn’t hear its hinges or painted wood move. He felt as if there was no sound. A figure descended the single outside step, made simply of iron and wood, he supposed. They stood still for a moment, before heading towards Harry with what appeared to be a sense of urgency.

As the figure drew closer, the particular gait and whip of the mahogany coat became more familiar to him. Harry pulled his bottom lip up between his teeth anxiously.

His heart felt like a pendulum.

Waiting.

Wanting to be sure.

The light chestnut hair, in a quiffed style that lost its melody that day somehow, strands of hair hanging loosely in the front, a pointed, delicate nose, and a strong jawline all came into view.

Closer and closer.

Harry felt himself bend at the knee once he could see for certain, feeling overwhelmed with a pleasant kind of relief, and there was an instant reaction. Two hands latched onto his upper body to keep him steady, anchors touching somewhere along his curved waist through his sheer shirt and near his shoulder against his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, still hoping it wasn’t an alcohol-induced dream, until there was a hand right against his dew-nipped cheek.

“Louis,” Harry hummed.

He opened his eyes.

There was a faint smile at the corner of Louis’ coral lips, but they lacked the perfect shine. Louis reached up to carefully lift Harry’s chin and meet his gaze, thumb beginning to caress Harry’s bare skin. Harry could recognise the unspoken apology slipping out into the air.

They did nothing but look at one another for a few passing moments. With his chest heaving slightly, Harry thought of nothing else but incredible blue. Then Louis’ arms were engulfing him entirely; desperate fingers curled to the back of Harry’s head and through his hair, the other arm tightened around his entire midsection, so surely and intimately, that Harry could just about feel every particular curve of Louis’ figure against his.

He tried not to shiver.

“Someone,” Harry mumbled, “might notice.”

Louis broke away only enough to speak his part.

“To Hell with them,” was the very thing he offered as a reply, eyes glancing down upon Harry’s lips with intrigue - as if he’d never touched them before, and wanted to, which was an utter lie because they’d kissed so many times in the moonlight and the daylight alike.

He leaned himself closer and Harry, unable to wait another second, leaned in as well, closing the aching gap between them so their mouths were finally together.

Louis tasted so sweet.  
  
_Always so sweet._

It felt like so long since they were last together, even if it was only half a week’s time. Their last conversation was rough around its edges, and unpleasant in the middle, voices raised and curses uttered at one another.

Now Harry couldn’t help but let out a content whimper as they kissed, which Louis took as an invitation to press his mouth more vigorously against Harry’s, his tongue hot and persistent. Harry didn’t want any of it to stop, in the particular way he always seemed to feel around Louis.

Then everything paused, rigid and incomplete like an antique grandfather clock submerged in ice.

Louis cleared his throat quietly, cheekbones clearly brushed with shades of red. He took a few steps backward and turned around for a moment, scanning the nearby surroundings. He smiled finally, and faced Harry again, but he was no longer standing close enough to feel any warmth.

His long fingers were starting to knit together.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked.

“I must go to Paris. To find my sister Margaret.”

“When?”

Seconds of pure silence passed and Louis didn’t respond, his gaze fixated upon the disappearing shine of his worn traveling boots. Harry’s brow furrowed.

“Louis, when?” he repeated, shifting his weight.

“Now.”  
  
The word echoed in Harry’s ears. Hollow. He knew what he had to say, especially after everything that had happened between them recently.

“Then- then I’ll go with you.”

Determined, Harry set his shoulders.

All he needed to do was grab something decently warm for his own back, throw together a quick trunk of clothing, maybe nick a few of his favourite books (although, how he was to pick the most beloved in a minute’s span, he didn’t know) off the shelf near the window.

That, and say a quiet goodbye from the doorway to everyone still in their beds until he returned from wherever their travels would lead them. His wandering thoughts were derailed when Louis, expressly and sharply, shook his head.

“No, Harry,” Louis countered, “You won’t. It isn’t safe.”

“I’ll do as I damned please,” Harry huffed then, stepping forward only to be blocked by Louis’ mimicked step. Louis wasn’t looking at him directly, eyes cast down.

A breath escaped from between Louis’ lips, true and quiet.

“I’ve arranged,” Louis went on, “for an acquaintance of mine to meet me at a hotel near Champs Elysees. From there, I’ll follow the information I have.” He paused to swallow, the round apple beneath the skin of his throat bobbing just so.

“Besides… Harry, the baby will be delivered soon.”

Louis looked up. His voice sounded scratchy and exhausted, as if he hadn’t been able to rest all night long either.

“So your family needs you here. Not in France.”

There was an obvious emphasis on the last phrase, Louis’ central northern accent catching the particular corner of the syllables.

It took a moment for everything to really sink in. He was unable to find words to articulate the serious sense of the situation building in his gut, like a block of concrete, unforgiving and terrible and going steady to the bottom of the ocean. Tears began to prickle at the corners of his green eyes and he pressed his curled fists against Louis’ chest.

Harry couldn’t lose Louis to the world. Not for real this time.

“Don’t go, Lou,” was all he managed to choke out.

“I shall return,” Louis continued, voice wavering but brow remaining unchanged. He brushed a hand against Harry’s left shoulder, then his right shoulder, and tugged on the front of the fabric above Harry’s low buttons as if it needed to be set straight.

As if someone was watching.

“Indeed, and we’ll enjoy every moment of the future. Our future.”

Harry resigned himself to the truth of the matter, that Louis must leave Holmes Chapel with no time to spare, by pressing his cold forehead against Louis’. His shoulders sunk. He still didn’t know what to believe about what lie ahead for any of them. But he was thankful to have Louis standing in front of him again.

Fresh dampness fell upon his cheeks as he began to cry, salty and heavy, but he didn’t bother to lift a hand to brush a single tear away. There was nothing else to do. Before he could make another sound, Louis let his hands fall.

“You have all of me,” Louis whispered softly, but clearly. His mouth was so close again that Harry could see his lips moving with every new word. “Please know this and remember it well every day that I am away. We’ll be together again.”

The blue pierced Harry like a sharp arrow.

“I promise.”

Louis delivered a short, hard kiss to Harry’s lips before departing, finally falling into a rhythm of movement back towards the pair of beautiful horses and the waiting carriage without so much as another glance and Harry, left alone in the dewed chill of spring, slid down to his knees in the mud. The silver metal of his rings clashed emptily as he brought his palms together and up to the soft, curved lines of his lips. Back hunched and head tilted slightly downward, Harry sent a simple prayer out into the vast watercolor sky until the sound of hooves grew smaller and smaller, moving into the distant horizon, and there was nothing left but silence.

***

**II.**

**Mistmoore Estate  
** **Holmes Chapel, England  
** **May 1882**

**ONE YEAR EARLIER**

The smell of freshly baked wheat and nut-topped bread and thick slices of honey-drizzled bacon wafted through the air, straight down one of the main corridors, and right past Harry’s nose. He ran his fingers through his difficult morning hair as he walked. It was still slightly damp from his attempt to tame the knots and curls whilst standing in front of the boudoir mirror. 

Harry twirled a corner of it above his temple with his index finger in such a stylish manner he noticed a group of men flaunting in town recently. He made a sharp left to enter the breakfast room. He inhaled the delightful, rich scent, now at its peak, and began to circle around the long table in order to reach his usual seat.

It faced the old ancestral portrait on the wall, two figures looking straight ahead and some kind of pug breed at their feet, instead of the tall and wide windows that framed the sight of the bushes in the front lawn, the extended landscape, and the road to town.

He knew that he would in fact never finish his breakfast if he sat facing it, getting too frequently lost in the wings of the monarch butterflies. 

Harry took in the typical sight of his two sisters seated in their regular places while moving about. Gemma, the oldest of the three, whom Harry patted on the shoulder, was dressed in a lovely new, light-colored beige dress with a floral pattern and Mabel, the eight year old fireball, was currently arranging raspberries into a face on her crumb-covered china next to an abandoned scone. He rubbed the back of her head, ruffling her ribbon-tied curls. She was wearing an outfit not unlike her elder sister’s, minus the corset piece and, well, the extra plumage at the back.

“Morning, ‘arry!” Mabel said happily.

A raspberry went flying at that exact moment and landed on the floor somewhere. One of the younger maids, who was just passing by, nearly dived underneath the table to pick it up right away so that it wouldn’t become squashed and leave a stain. Clearly they knew the family well enough.

Furthest from the doorway, at the head of the rectangular table, sat his mother Anne, who looked as beautiful and majestic as always, even with her slightly awkward round reading spectacles sitting atop the bridge of her nose. A daily newspaper titled _Cheshire Times_ , folded against its natural creases, was resting in front of her beside a cup of tea with two sugar cubes. She glanced up as he walked past her chair, her lips curved, almost as if she was surprised to see him awake and moving about this early in the day. Joining them for a proper breakfast.

“Good morning everyone,” Harry murmured back with a chuckle, after he stopped briefly to plant an expected greeting kiss on his mother’s cheek. “Slept well last night, I hope?”

There wasn’t a single objection. That was good to hear. Some days he wasn’t sure what kind of response to that question there would be. Some days, it seemed, despite the tranquility and location of the estate, not a single one of them slept well. Except maybe Rufus, their little Spaniel who loved to drool everywhere, literally, and fall asleep curled against pillows of many sizes.

Harry finally sat down with a sigh, rubbing at his thighs a couple of times under the oak, as if that were to do anything to ready his stomach, before looking around to see what sort of delectable things had been brought out that day.

He piled his center plate high with a generous portion of the exact bacon he smelled earlier, a tart with mystery filling, two slices of pale toast with black marks across it, swiped a bit of butter, and dropped a generous scoop of strawberries onto one of the smaller plates adjacent to it.

A cup of hot coffee was poured for him as well, upon request, and set beside his plate.

The rest of their breakfast passed by slowly through a melody of sounds: utensils against decently fine china (the best, of course, reserved for the most special occasions) and low conversations amongst themselves as Hastings, their butler, stood stoically in one corner. Neither of the maids were seen anymore, already going about their other chores for the day.

Harry promised Mabel twice that he’d take her out to the stables in the afternoon to see the horses.

Yet again.

He could hardly say no to the youthful laughter that came about whenever she insisted on greeting each horse in their individual stable, letting their noses blow air against her cheek, her hands running down their long manes as Harry carried her in his arms.

It was so endearing.

She wanted to ride one someday and he already promised to provide her first lesson.

As Harry was heading back to his room in the east wing, chosen for daily peace and, without a doubt, to avoid the stream of social visits that came to Mistmoore, he heard his name called out somewhere behind him.

He turned around to see Anne poking her head beyond the doors of the mansion's impressive library. Even after almost two full years of living there, none of them had so much as read a quarter of all the titles on display. Mabel read a few of the children’s ones, with help of course, dancing like a swan or a giant sea monster in her nightgown through the progression of some of the wildest tales they encountered. She wasn’t allowed to be in the library alone however.

His mother motioned to him with one hand.

“May I have a word, dear?” Anne said.

Harry nodded, retraced his footsteps, and stepped inside. He wondered what on earth this could be about. From a quick glance, it seemed that her pleased smile in the sunroom had already disappeared, replaced by a crinkle on her forehead. A troubling sign, but alas, it was sometimes hard to predict her reaction to anything.

The door shut quietly behind them with a click and Anne pressed a hand to the backside of his arm, at his elbow, urging them to walk further into the room. Away from prying ears most likely.

“Is something the matter?” Harry said, rubbing his ticklish elbow, voice light, unsure whether to be concerned.

Anne laughed a little at that, shook her head, and parted her hands in dismissal.

“No, not particularly. I simply wanted to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“Your future, Harry.”

“Mmm. That.”

“Yes. _That_ ,” his mother echoed, with a raised brow. “Are you interested to continue with your studies? Perhaps I can appeal to the university -”

Harry grimaced openly at the thought of picking up, and actually finishing this time, the rigorous law course he started in London years ago.

He loved the idea of it originally and the extensive reading assignments, most of it to be truthful, but hated the days spent trailing behind a barrister twice or thrice his age with a thick beard and a questionable odor as he yelled at other such men in a crowded, airless room. It was a horrible environment, unlike what he grew up believing from his father’s stories. The long-winded tales of justice and well-doers.

The wig didn’t suit him either.

He shook his head.

“Alright. What about a courtship? At your age, I think it would be perfect. There are plenty of lovely, young women in Holmes Chapel. Summer has nearly arrived.”

She said it so matter-of-factly that Harry wondered then whether there was any part of her, buried deep or not, against the idea.

“No,” Harry answered, “I mean. I- I’ve considered it.”

That was all Harry was willing to say out loud for the moment and Anne, generally in tune with her son’s emotional tide, could probably tell from one examination of the tempered expression on his long face that he did not want to broach the subject any further or any longer.

She didn’t push it, letting it dissolve into the air instead.

Harry stood there silently after those words, staring blankly at his mother as she watched him back like a curious bird on a perch, as old memories of university starting to drift into his mind, a collage of images. Late nights burning candles and tearing parchment apart with his hands before dumping it straight into the rubbish bin. Voices of his peers and other people he did not wish to think of now. His sense of accomplishment. Dreams come and gone. Plans ruined. The laughter was loud and echoed in his ears.

A lump worked its way into his throat.

He blinked, looking down at his hands. His fingers had mindlessly begun to run along the lines carved into the small table in front of them. Harry still remembered the vibrant story that his uncle used to tell him about how he acquired such a beautiful piece of furniture in the first place (through a foolish gamble), and managed to bring it all the way from a small island off the southern coast of India to this very spot.  
  
Now he was gone and everything in the estate house was theirs whether they desired to keep it or not. It still felt wrong to consider giving even a candlestick away.

He wanted to help others though; he would just have to figure out another way.

Anne sighed.

“I know that you study on your own, diligently, every week,” she continued, her voice soft and careful, “You help Gemma and look after Mabel, chasing her around more than any of us can. You spend a great deal of time in town or with your friends as well.”

He nodded.

“I understand you miss him dearly, Harry. God believe me, we all do.”

Anne paused.

“But your uncle wanted you to be happy, to seize every moment as he did. I believe you’re destined for more than mere idleness. Don’t waste the years, my love,” she said, crossing in front of the table and reaching out for his hand.

“They will be gone so quickly.”

He let her squeeze his hand gently.

Harry nodded again, feeling a bit of shame creep up his cheeks. He admittedly had grown too comfortable in his rash routine of drinking hard spirits, socializing with anyone within ten feet who would listen to his rambles, coming home at odd hours, buying decorated gifts - but never settling into anything like he used to. Things were certainly different here than living in a cramped flat in the heart of London, two rooms shared between the four of them and Harry, working most of the week, doing what he could to bring fresh red meat and jam home if they were unlucky and it was a bad week.

But they had also received a monthly stipend from Harry’s uncle, which ultimately was the very reason they were able to stay afloat and well.

Now they had more space and stability with finances than they could’ve dreamed for. Not to mention staff that waited on them nearly every day and night. Then there were his private emotions lately, his musings, his wonderings swirling around constantly about his existence and his ability to - well - love in the way that he wanted to.

“I want to feel alive again,” Harry whispered.

“You will, darling, in time.”

Anne leaned closer and slightly upwards to kiss Harry’s forehead, before pulling him tightly into a comforting hug. He gently placed a hand upon her back.

Harry had grown close to three inches over the last several years, not to anyone’s surprise, as he had always been lean as a child, head stuck straight up in the clouds. He tried to smile in addition to her warm gesture, but felt as if his lips were pulling against him, so he barely managed half a curve.

\---

One quiet Saturday afternoon, Harry decided to go down to the market across the bridge and past the old brick church by himself. It gave him a chance to concentrate on something. And if it was a good day, he’d find everything he was looking for. The driver, whose name was George and always wore a torn handkerchief tied around his neck, adjusted the horse's reins and nodded to him once Harry got off the private carriage. As with the usual agreement, he would rest somewhere out of the way, let the horse feed on open grass, and return in a few hours to bring Harry and anything he purchased back to the estate.

Harry waved two fingers, not bothering to watch the familiar wheels turn over rough cobblestone and disappear down the road before he began to look around and see who was walking about. It seemed decently busy, full of enough people that he had to step out of the way to have even brief and polite conversations with those that recognised him.

He said hello and good day to several others that looked in his direction, but did not engage otherwise. Funny, he thought to himself, how there were charcoal painted rags so close to top hats and cashmere scarves from far away lands, a colorful mix of individuals and obvious couples as they strolled through the different stalls of goods.

Harry grinned finally, pushing carefully past a tall, bald man lifting a cart filled with big, spotted melons, and running over until he stopped right in front of his favourite fruit stand. He dipped his head out of respect despite the fact that he wasn’t wearing a top hat.

“Mr. Styles,” the old woman chirped, “Good day.”

“Please, I beg you always. Call me Harry.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. She laughed, a tooth noticeably missing from her smile and a shawl tied around her upper torso. She shook her head but did not say anything else, turning away, humming a melody to herself he couldn’t quite catch.

He reached for the square bin of peaches, laid out so carefully that none were on top of the others, their bodies ripe and full. His hand was reaching for the very center, when another hand bumped into his at the same piece of fruit.

“Oh, pardon -” Harry said, turning to see a man standing next to him, hand pulling away, morphing into a quick gesture for him to take the peach instead, “me.”

“No, no, it’s all my fault. I was far too hasty.”

“You eat peaches?”

The words tasted like iron on his tongue, thick and weird. He cursed at himself internally for such a juvenile comment, especially to a stranger, curious eyes glancing upon the features of the stranger’s face, and realizing that they were unique in nature.

Attractive.

“Only the best ones.” Pause. “Go ahead, it’s yours.”

“I insist,” Harry tried. “Please take it.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry watched as the man picked up the round peach again, bouncing it carefully in the center of his palm. He wore an outfit not unlike Harry’s, if he was honest it seemed more well kept, a neat white shirt with thick gold buttons underneath a casual tailed frock, and dark blue high-waisted trousers that went down the leg before disappearing into a pair of typical charcoal boots.

His eyes were blue like the underwater crystals from one of Mabel’s books, and his smile seemed so friendly that it, in fact, nearly took up the entirely of his petite face. He tilted his head slightly, perhaps a sign that Harry was staring too intensely, so Harry quickly looked away and wiped one hand at the back of his own leg nervously.

“Yes, there’s p-plenty.” Harry pretended to examine every crevice in front of him, including the nooks of the purple plums. “Looks like a good harvest this year.”

The stranger didn’t say anything in response, dropping a shilling and a few rubbed down pence onto the makeshift counter that stood in between them and the stand keeper, and turned away without another word.

It was not until Harry paid for his own bright strawberries, peaches, and a long necked squash, tucking them each into a cloth bag he’d borrowed from the kitchen, slipping a few extra coins into the pile for the shopkeeper, and returned to wandering through the stalls again that he realized the stranger was not far up ahead.

He was looking back at him. Harry turned around to see if there was anyone beside him. Not a soul on the left or the right.

He raised his brow. Harry had never seen the peach buyer before, not in all the months he visited there. He tried to rack his brain to find a memory of whether or not they knew each other. Were they acquaintances or peers from university, or at the same pub together on a stormy night? Had they crossed paths even sometime before that?

Nothing came to his mind.

Harry then felt an involuntary shiver through the top of his body, almost like there was something lingering in the air beside him that he could not see. An invisible eel’s zap. He hurried to duck behind a coat covered in frilly ruffles at the neck and pompous emu-like feathers trailing down both arms and along the bottom seam, which, in Harry’s opinion, might make a decent outfit for an evening social.

Was it even his size? But when Harry’s attention snapped back into place and he dared to peek past it, the stranger was no longer in sight.

He was gone.

***

 **Mistmoore Estate** ****  
**Holmes Chapel, England** **  
** **June 1882**

Nearly two weeks went by after the market incident. Harry tried to casually inquire around town about who the mysterious person might be, but so many faces were spilling into Holmes Chapel and throughout all of Cheshire for the summertime that, without a name of any sort, it was impossible to get any real information.

He urged himself to forget all about it, shake off the tingle of his palms at the thought of their hands near one another. How it was new but familiar simultaneously.

How he felt this easily persuaded and captivated by someone he knew very little of, when he was in fact used to playing the role himself. Molding others like clay, intentionally and otherwise, being called charming by many he met in London, in pubs, in alleyways, and even during his mother’s weekly meetings with other ladies and tea. Loads of tea.

\---

One thing Rufus enjoyed, besides rolling around on every single one of the woven, imported rugs and leaving bits of auburn hair behind, was indeed to play fetch and retrieve. Harry used an old ball from one of the closets that was a bit heavy, thumping slightly against the floor as he rolled it to the dog’s delight - and his own exhaustion.

Harry collapsed onto his back after several rounds, a laugh escaping from between his lips at the sight of little legs scurrying out the door, down the long hallway where the ball must have gone with all its mighty weight and disappeared into one of the other rooms. He sighed, resting his hands upon his stomach.

Just a few moments later Harry could hear the muted sound of horses’ hooves clammering up the gravel. He ought to be used to it by now, however it seemed that Harry could never entirely keep track of how many people were coming and going this time of year - or who would appear exactly when. There was an excitement to it, to be sure, but it also created a sense of anxiety sometimes.

Harry rolled onto his side, the world tilting slowly into proper horizontal view once he sat up, hands pressing against the floor to prop himself up, and faced the large arched window. Luckily the parlor he ended up in overlooked the front path and main entrance to the estate with no obstruction. He could then see two horses, steady and waiting, a stopped carriage behind them.

Rufus returned dutifully, dropping the makeshift toy onto the carpet, and began to press wet, snuffling kisses against Harry’s hand upon realising that he was being ignored. Their game was suddenly over. Harry smiled at this and looked down. He cupped the dog’s short face in both of his hands, slightly squishing his youthful cheeks and distorting the adorable features.

“We’ve got a visitor,” Harry whispered dramatically. Wide, brown eyes blinked back at him curiously. Not a single idea about the words he was saying. His tail was wagging cautiously. Harry chuckled and let go, rubbing his hand on top of Rufus’ head before getting himself fully onto his feet.

He stepped up to the window and it took a second for the sight before him to become clear. His eyes narrowed, trying to make out the figure better - no, it couldn’t be.

But….was it?

Harry looked away, down at the dog, then took off hurrying through the doorway, catching himself by utter surprise at his sudden burst of energy. Fingers gripped the ornament at the top of the wooden banister, as he swung himself around the corner and down the stairs, trying not to lose his shoes in the process - or the structure of his face, even.

He stopped short just before the foyer, palms and back pressed to a thick marble column that shielded his presence. Casual, jovial voices trickled in past the lion’s head and echoed in his ears.  
Finally catching his silly breath, Harry cleared his throat as quietly as humanly possible and tugged at the front of his breast, making sure everything looked enough in order not to embarrass himself fully. Or maybe it was too late for that. Harry turned, began to walk towards the front door, and he couldn’t give that much of a damn about how he looked anymore.

He smiled as soon as he stepped outside.

“Hello.”

 The visitor looked up at the movement and Harry confirmed that it was the same crystal blue. He held his smile, extending a hand. He hoped for a name this time.

 “Afternoon. The name’s Louis,” he said in return, taking Harry’s hand, “Louis Tomlinson.”

“Louis,” Harry repeated, trying to ignore how tight the grip on his hand was. “Grand name.”

Louis’ lip twitched noticeably. He dipped his head slightly and released Harry’s fingers.

“And yours?”  

Hastings was in the background speaking with the driver of the carriage, pointing with one arm. Gemma stood just beside Louis, who was holding a pair of yellow gloves in one hand. Anne was watching Mabel run in between the large columns. Harry could hear a quiet scolding, a warning that she might fall and hurt herself. That would be a terrible thing, if it were to happen as a result of such recklessness.

Flexing his hand, he wondered why everyone was gathered together; either Louis was expected to be at Mistmoore and Harry hadn’t the faintest idea or - it was because of something like good chance.

“Harry.”

A moment passed. He shook his head.

“Sorry this is, um, my sister -”

Gemma began to laugh quietly.

“We’ve already met, dear brother. Louis is an old friend of mine.”

Louis chuckled.

Oh.

“Right. How… convenient.” Harry tilted his head. He tried to conjure up the perfect words to say, but felt his tongue tying itself into a knot. He simply smiled again and squinted up at the sun.

“Lovely of you to join us,” was all Harry managed to add for pleasantries’ sake.

Anne eventually took Mabel inside to sit with her tutor, then to retire herself for a nap, and Gemma gave Louis a lengthy tour of the inside of the house, as he had never seen any of it before. Harry started to wonder where Louis had been all this time. In England or elsewhere. Maybe somewhere far away. He was going to find out one way or another.

Harry sat on the warm cement steps, declining to join them. They needed time to say hello again, exchange news and other tidbits of what was happening in each of their worlds since, God knows when, they saw each other last. He twirled one of the rings on his finger in silence.

“H,” Gemma said once they returned, her voice soft and friendly, “Why don’t you show Louis around the outside?”

The weather seemed suspiciously nice. The sky was full and blue and empty of thin or thick clouds. Harry looked down and turned to face them. He stood up and nodded.

“Of course. I’d be delighted to.”

Gemma nodded once, pulled up her dress slightly to manage getting over the ledge without getting a tear, and disappeared into the house, leaving the two of them standing just beyond. The door shut behind them with a heavy, inevitable clang.

“Shall we?” Louis asked. Harry could see the gloves sticking out from one of the pockets of Louis’ clothing. He felt his cheeks brush with warmth and his eyes snapped up to meet Louis’ gaze.

Certainly wasn’t the first time he caught himself staring at a man’s trousers. Nor would it be the last.

Harry turned away and made a gesture towards the meticulous landscaping and all the grass, a large garden hiding around the back of Mistmoore, stables and a small barn off to the east, and a fountain with bright ceramic tiles and a few lost currency somewhere in the middle. There was an old boathouse too, near the lake, but no one had used it in years as far as Harry understood.

He wasn’t sure where to lead them first or what Louis even cared to see at this point. They began to walk together regardless, descending the steps, Harry a bit ahead of Louis.

“We -”

“It’s -”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly. He gestured as if he were swatting a fly.

“I apologise. I’m not - not feeling well today. Speak as much as you like.”

“Alright.” Louis paused eventually, looking around, eyes scanning the Lady’s Smock and daisies that had come up right beside them. “It’s impressive. The estate, I mean - stunning.”

“You think so?”

“I do. I can’t believe I hadn’t come to it before.”

Harry tilted his head.

“Well,” he asked, his tone curious, “Where have you been?”

“Doncaster.” Louis sighed, a knit in his brow. “Most of my life, really. Along the Spanish coast after that, then London for the last few years.”

“Ah, you like to travel.”

Louis thought for a moment, thin lips pursed together. He tried to smile at Harry’s casual supposition and a curious expression passed over his face. Harry couldn’t decipher just then what it meant, but there seemed to be a hint of restraint.

“I don’t know if ‘like’ is the proper word.”

With that Louis began to walk forward again, away from the house, and Harry, puzzled but intrigued, simply followed behind and watched how Louis scratched mindlessly at his forehead and let his arm fall down against his side as they turned around the corner. Harry cleared his throat and added a few bits of commentary as he could, a headache building behind his eyes, alternating with poor attempts at humor, about the particular type of plants lining the path and hiding behind the stones.

The back garden came into view finally - tall Blackthorn trees lining the perimeter, fruit not yet ripe, bushes of common roses of various colours in the middle, and a mix of other shrubs and potted herbs all in between. A light gray stone path continued from where the gravel left off, guiding them past the large windows of the first floor family room and straight into the center of cultivated beauty. They wandered past several trees and it was silent, Harry only catching brief, stolen glimpses of Louis as Louis ran his hands just over the bristles, thorns, and needles he passed, seemingly, without a worry in the world. For the moment.

Their eyes met once and Louis smiled.

Upon reaching the grand marble fountain, water rushing over its three levels and into the cerulean pool, Harry stopped walking. He didn’t know whether to seat himself on one of the stone benches nearby or turn around and head back. It was as if Louis could read his mind, for with one elegant motion he lifted the tails of his long coat and sat upon the left side of the nearest stone.

He crossed his right left over his leg and sat so surely and calmly, that Harry thought, for a second or two, that it wasn’t possible there was a wild heart of any kind beating inside the man’s chest. Louis looked up, brushing a bit of hair out of his eyes and raised his brows.

“Just going to stand there?” Louis said.

“No,” Harry answered, going over to the bench, “I’m going to sit right here.”

“Good.”

“How long are you expecting to be in Holmes Chapel?”

Louis shrugged.

“Til the end of summer, at least. God knows about after.”

Harry’s lips felt dry and cracked. He didn’t speak for a moment and it seemed as he continued to stare at Louis’ side profile that something was stirring in his chest.

Louis leaned forward as he wet his lips.

“Thank you again. For the peach. It was delicious.”

“I enjoyed mine too,” Harry murmured. “I love going to the marketplace.”

He didn’t know where to place his hands.

“Perhaps it was meant to be,” Louis continued, sitting back. He set his hands atop his knees and Harry was sure that no one in all of England ever looked more poised to perfection. Except Her Majesty Queen Victoria, of course.

Harry scratched his head.

“Fruits answer to fate?” he joked.

There was a slight hum.

“Everything does, I suppose,” Louis said, “in the end.”

A more clever, intellectual response was forming in Harry’s mind slowly but surely, as were curves at the corners of his mouth, but he watched silently for a moment as Louis quite suddenly reached into his pocket and produced a silver watch. It clicked open as he pressed the little button at its very top and Harry distantly watched the hands inside go tick, tick, tick. Infinite circles around the same space.

“Damn. I’m late,” Louis announced, the watch disappearing into his pocket as he uncrossed his legs and stood up.

He started to move from where he was seated as if his body was bound by a magic spell, certain and alert, not waiting for Harry to follow him this time. Louis turned around once he was some distance away and began walking backwards, as he remembered his social rudeness for actually abandoning the host. His shoes scuffed against the stone.

“See you again!” he called out to Harry, lifting one hand in the air to say goodbye.

And Harry lifted his hand in a wave too, still watching, mouth barely dropping open as Louis turned and hustled the rest of his way back to the carriage, disappearing around the corner with a cotton flutter.

\---

The Styles found themselves not particularly interested in supper since they moved to Mistmoore and first began to adjust to their new life. Mabel retired to her bed too early to ever possibly enjoy it, and Anne had an easily upset stomach, which thus often led to Gemma and Harry being left alone, taking simple bites of dessert and having sips of wine while they gossiped with each other instead. Some days they rightfully skipped it altogether when they were out at gatherings.

Dinner at five o'clock sharp, on the other hand, was Mabel’s absolute favourite, and was always taken in one of the rooms lining the inside of the mansion. Harry usually found it somewhat suffocating with no windows, despite its decent-sized space and rich design of both red floral wallpaper and golden candelabras. A single chandelier was hanging above their heads.

He entered through one set of the wide double doors. The opposite side of the room had a slim and open doorway that, at times, made for a brilliant escape.

That night they were served four separate courses, all wonderful, including a piping hot and hearty vegetable soup, roasted chicken with broken leaves of thyme, darkened potatoes, and freshly baked flour rolls. Afterwards, Harry retired to the parlor next door with the granite fireplace that bore a dancing flame he loved, falling sideways onto one of the elongated couches.

His stomach felt so full it might burst through the seams. His very buttons might drop onto the floor.

He lazily draped an arm over his eyes, shielding from the electric lamps that were turned on by the servants and beginning to brighten the room. It was after several moments of peace, and quiet, that he finally heard a voice next to him. Gemma was sat against the same couch by his legs.

When he moved his arm and opened one eye, his sister was looking at him.

“What?” Harry said.

Gemma seemed to examine the lines of his face, her face calm but interested, almost expectant of something. She opened her mouth, then closed it, before standing up again.

“Nothing.”

Harry grumbled incoherently as his sister moved across the room and went to sit in a thick-cushioned chair with large ornamented legs.

She rested her hands against her stomach and politely crossed her legs in front of her at the ankle. He blinked, shrugging the brief, nonsensical idea completely out of his mind, not even giving it a serious moment of consideration, and looked away.

“Louis enjoyed the estate. He said so three times before he left.”

“Did he really?” Harry echoed plainly, the feel of something slightly bitter in his mouth, moving to sit up. “He disappeared so quickly.”

Gemma laughed.

“Indeed.” She nodded. “You get used to it.”

“Actually… we met at the market weeks ago. Not for very long either, but.”

“Really? He didn’t mention that.”

Harry swallowed at the thought of Louis choosing to keep their meeting private information, even to such an old, close acquaintance as Gemma herself.

“Exactly how long have you known each other?” he eventually asked.

He was slouched against the back support now, arms crossed over his bloated stomach. He watched as Gemma reached over the side of her chair and dug around in a wooden box for what he assumed to be her personal needlework.

“Since Abigail Edgeworth’s birthday. Four years ago now, I suppose it was.”

Harry frowned.

“Where was I?”

Gemma gave him a knowing look then went back to looking down at her moving fingers and her creation. The fabric draped over the sides and there was a metal ring in the center, where the design was building as she worked on it day by day.

It looked almost like a stagnant moon from where Harry sat.

“You missed it, remember? Said you weren’t feeling right.”

“Probably a bit drunk,” he muttered to himself, readjusting his tight arms folded together, suddenly feeling a bit of a disappointed pout spread onto his lips.

Harry let himself dare to believe, for the briefest of moments, that perhaps he could’ve been a little happier back then. Or the long fall off the steep edge after he found out the terrible news wouldn’t have torn him into difficult, wind-blown pieces. If only he’d known someone interesting and beautiful like Louis.  

Perhaps.

His uncle still would be gone.

There was a moderately thick silence between them, many things still unspoken, Harry swimming in a silly longing for nothing that existed in front of his own two eyes. Gemma cleared her throat and looked up again, pausing carefully so as not to mess up the delicate, particular pattern.

“Are you alright?”

Harry stopped chewing at his bottom lip.

“Fine. Just curious.” He got up and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

\--- 

Much to Harry’s surprise, less than a week later, Louis returned to Mistmoore. This time he was carrying a bouquet including white peonies and blooming sunflowers, tied together with a ribbon. He bowed as soon as he was escorted into the house. Mabel was the first one to greet him other than Hastings, and Harry, who was descending the staircase at the time he heard noises at the door.

“Hello,” Louis said. He was trying to figure out what to do about the fact that Mabel had attached herself to his side and was giving him a very long hug. Harry scrunched up his nose.

“Sorry, she likes doing that.” He stifled a cautious laugh. “Mabel, please let go of Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis just smiled and bent down to hug her in return. There was something genuine and soft in the expression on his face that made it seem like Mabel hugging him was not an issue at all. Rather he knew to humor the girl, mostly for her sake. He finally straightened up once she let go and looked between the two of them as if there were a secret they weren’t telling her about. She stared at Harry a couple of extra seconds, eyes wide. Harry made a face at her and her mouth broke into a silly grin, before she ran away and was saying something to herself about the sunflowers.

Harry tried not to sigh as he bowed his head towards Louis. He felt a bit awkward and unsure.

“I have sisters too,” Louis noted. “I understand fully.”

“You do? How many?”

“Five.”

“Oh,” Harry said, laughing, “That’s surely more than I have.”

Louis had lines by his eyes, but he didn’t say anything else. The paper that the plants were wrapped in crinkled as he shifted it from one arm to the other. They almost blocked his head from view, making him look like some sort of human-plant hybrid.

“These are for you,” Louis started, fumbling with his words a bit. “I mean, your mother. Or anyone...here.”

“You can hand them over to Hastings,” Harry stated with a smile.

It took only a moment for Hastings to, with a gentle and still youthful smile, step forward from his post by the door and relieve Louis of the weight between his arms. He turned and began to carry them out of the foyer to seek a vase and trim the edges, Harry presumed.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome. Freshly cut. I do love the sight and smell of a good peony in the summer. So I hope that you’ll enjoy them.”

Harry smiled.

“Anywhere to go today?” he said, voice a bit challenging. Louis caught onto the jab and brushed a bit of dirt off his cheek. He shook his head and showed his teeth when he grinned.

“No, not at all. I’m free as a bird.”

“Excellent.”

“What did you have in mind?” Louis pressed.

Harry shrugged and let his foot hang off the step as he grabbed onto the wooden bulb at the end of the banister. It was a slightly dangerous question to be sure, a twist inside Harry’s stomach. He could take Louis out to see the horses, if he was stable minded like Harry, if not… they could always play a game on the lawn or visit the library. Now, there were other things lingering on the outest edges of his mind of course, but absolutely none of them appropriate to say aloud.

“How about some water?”

Louis nodded.

“Please, that would be lovely. Sun’s out today.”

Harry tried not to stare as Louis lifted the glass to his lips. He cleared his throat and promptly looked away, leaning against the porcelain sink. A towel hung over the side. He looked out the window, into the gardens, from a different perspective being that they were on the far west side of the house. Louis seemed to stand even closer than he was a moment ago. He joined Harry in leaning towards the pictured scene, lowered glass in one hand.

“What’s that building? Out there?”

“Oh, the boathouse,” Harry explained. “No one really uses it. It’s not been well kept since -”

His words trailed off as a distant, old memory began to hit him.

He could almost hear the sound of his uncle calling after him as Harry, once twelve years old and with a mop of hair atop his head, ran through the long tailed grass towards the lake on his own. He remembered the air rushing against his face and through him the blood pumping inside his chest, as he happily, and unaware of the world itself, got close to the boathouse.

The outside was still pristine that year, beautifully painted wood with a shingled pointed roof. Small galley windows and a large rectangular one at the back overlooking the water. His uncle finally reached the spot where he was standing and staring out at nature, and knelt down beside him, out of breath, his suit smelling of cigars and lilac flowers.

_“My boy - you ought to be careful. Wouldn’t want you to get swallowed up by anything, now would we? Come here.”_

Harry finally blinked to himself, twenty four years old again, falling out of the lost vision he longed to return to, the remnant pressures of his uncle’s friendly hug dissolving as he heard his name again.

“Harry.”

Someone was shaking his shoulder now.

“Harry, isn’t that your dog?” Louis said.

He followed Louis’ pointed hand to see a chestnut blur, half of which was made up of two long ears no doubt, went past the window fairly deep into the grass. Rufus was running away from the house and no one was behind him. Harry sighed, letting his hands press against his face before letting out a soft laugh.

“Yes, it is,” Harry answered. “He must have gotten away from Mabel. Again."

“I see. Well.” Louis turned to set down his glass, before turning back to Harry. “Let’s go and catch him, the little bugger, shall we?”

“In these clothes?” he retorted, eyebrow perched.

Harry shifted his position so that his side was leaning more against the refrigerator; he could feel himself displayed, in a natural, comfortable sense almost like a peacock - legs crossed near the ankle, arm lifted and elbow leaning against the top section of it. He could have swore that Louis’s eyes were touching his body, traveling down, down down, then snapping up again.

“Take your shoes off. There’s no time. He’ll be halfway to China by the time you get yourself out of those pipes…”

Harry snorted and stood up straight. He made a face in agreement, lips turning downward. Both parts of Louis’ statement were accurate, to say the least. Rufus could probably outrun almost anyone and Harry’s trousers were snug at the moment (except at the very bottom hem).

So he resigned himself to Louis’ suggestion. Harry stepped backwards once they both removed their footwear and gestured to the small entry through which they could get right to the gardens and the direction in which Rufus was presumably still going. His fingers brushed against the faux gold handle as he closed the door behind them.

They danced with the spaniel, chasing him one way first then another, around the base of an old willow tree, where Harry snuck up behind him and almost caught him with two hands but - then he wiggled out of Harry’s quick grasp against the silk detail of his suit and Harry, cursing, slipped and nearly fell forward.

He shouted to Louis to turn around, who stubbed his toe somewhere, maybe on a pile of unforeseen rocks, and was hopping slightly on one foot. The entire thing brought hilarious tears to Harry’s eyes and finally, not far from the boathouse at all, he let himself collapse onto the soft heavy grass. It wasn’t more than a moment later that Rufus, sniffing the ground, came over to Harry in an oblivious manner and sat down, perfectly still.

His mouth was open in a pant. It looked as if he were smiling.

Harry reached out his hand to pet him, relieved, his head falling back against the dirt and grass. Louis jogged over best he could and, hands on his hips, hunched slightly as he caught his own breath. He started to make faces at Rufus to say hello, telling him his face was irresistible, before bending down to pick him up.

With his other hand, he extended it to Harry and pulled him up to his feet.

Harry rubbed Rufus’ head, shaking his own.

“Thank you. He’s got a lot of energy lately.”

Louis looked past the dog over at Harry and smiled. The light was framing Louis’ face just right and it made the usually sharp angles of his face slightly less so, draping all three of them in warm brightness. Harry couldn’t help but smile back, a butterfly suddenly fluttering within his stomach.  
  
“Anytime.” Rufus licked Louis’ face.

“He seems to like you, though.”

“Seems to?” Louis teased.

Harry stuttered and coughed.

“I mean. He does like you,” he said quickly, gesturing with one hand, “Clearly. He likes you. He’s kissing your face.”

“Hmm,” was all Louis said to that, lips twitching and pressed together, turning away from Harry so that he could see Rufus’ face, tired and squished, resting against Louis’ shoulder as he was carried like an infant.

Harry stood and watched rather fondly as Louis meandered down through the rising dirt and drier roots - as there were mostly only weeds around this area now - saying things to Rufus that he couldn’t hear, before looking into the old structure, cupping a hand above his eyes against the window to see the inside better.

Harry stared out at the lake then, walking over to the edge of it and taking in the sight of the wooden dock, now half rotted. He wondered how much time his uncle ever really spent out here, away from prying eyes or ears, away from everyone, the expectations. Just sunshine, a reliable wind, and the lake.

“I would invite you for a swim,” Harry said once he stepped over to where Louis was, being careful not to slip into any holes that might have been left behind by creatures at night, “But I’m not sure the water’s all that clean. Especially since we haven’t had any rain.”

“No.” Louis chuckled.“I don’t think it is, either.”

Harry squinted against the direct sunlight.

“We do have a pool at the house. If you’d like to join me this afternoon?”

Louis was silent for a moment. He thought to himself, rocking where he stood slightly, petting Rufus’ down his back in a rhythmic motion. Rufus seemed to love it, his eyes drooping with the motion, chin resting now against one of Louis’ bent forearms.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Uh - a swim? With me. At the house later.  
  
Harry cleared his throat.

“I’d love to. I’ll have to borrow something to wear as I’ve got nothing else.” Louis paused. “Is that alright?”

There was something flirty and airy about the way he said it, offering to transfer Rufus to Harry’s arms a few passing moments later, their sun-kissed faces getting closer than they’d ever had and Louis murmuring “there we go” in such a gentle tone that made Harry want to melt below the knees.

Surely Louis was not, in fact, thinking the same thing.

\---

“Tell me something about you.”

Harry cleared the water from his lips as he kept himself slightly beneath the surface. They were in the deeper end of the pool, after he let Rufus loose inside the house, led Louis to the swimming area, and excused himself to search through his wardrobe for something suitable to share. He didn’t come up with much, but eventually found two pairs of old high-waisted trunks with bold stripes underneath some other clothes.

Harry couldn’t remember where they were from.

Luckily, one of them fit Louis seemingly perfect as he stepped out of the side changing room and looked up at Harry with a smile. Harry nodded in return and he wandered into the space first beneath the arching glass, light streaming in through all its angles, fresh warm water filling the small but more than adequate marble pool in the center and turning it a slight blue.

Louis was the first to get his toes wet, however. It was warm, he said to Harry, just delightful. A few long, folded towels were brought out and set onto a chair as requested. They took turns making quick laps across the short pool until Harry began to lose track of the exact number as he watched Louis’ petite frame cut through the water, his arms slipping in and out with a degree of precision and ease.

He considered Louis’ request.

“Well, I like custard any day of the year except on Christmas. Um. And I’m a terrible singer.”

Louis laughed.

“That’s two things,” he pointed out.

“Fine then,” Harry said, “you owe me two.”

“Tell me one more and I’ll owe you three.”

Harry met Louis’ gaze, green matching blue, slowly kicking his feet to stay afloat and lift his head higher above the water. He didn’t answer immediately, trying to find the right words. His arms were moving through the water too, hand splashing it slightly against nothing and he started to speak.

“I feel lost,” Harry admitted. “Like, in my life. I don’t know which way I should go or why.”

He was silent then closed his eyes, the last image of Louis watching him, eyes flickering in thought, turning to bubbles and blur as Harry pushed himself underneath the water and stayed there for a minute. It must have been too long, more than that, because he started to feel a nagging tightness inside his lungs and there was a hand reaching for his wrist.

Harry looked at Louis once they resurfaced and he ran both hands over his hair to get out of his eyes. He could see Louis’ own eyelashes, wet and clumped together and achingly long. He tilted his head and tried to smile at Harry, who nodded once to let Louis know that he was alright. Finally, Louis spoke again.

“Here’s mine. I was born in the middle of a snowstorm. The day before Christmas, funny that you mentioned it. Ran out of wood in my mother’s room and my aunt Nellie, not really my aunt, you know, but just as good as, went outside to get more. Bless her. Second, my eyes are pretty shit after dusk. And, uh,” Louis paused, pinching his bottom lip with one hand.

They'd slowly moved to the shallower end, so that neither of them had to strain themselves to stand up. Harry went to sit on the steps. He liked those three steps.

“I ran into you on purpose that day. At the market.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “Why did you?”

“You seemed familiar to me. I don’t know. There’s just something about being near you that feels like I’ve done it before, even if I can’t remember a thing of it. Strange, isn’t it?”

Louis sat down next to Harry, the water splashing slightly, tiny ripples cascading out into the center of the pool where everything else lay still. Harry could feel his heart slowly beating beneath his chest. He wanted to say that he was actually glad Louis did such a thing, that they met after all, that there was something about it which too seemed strange to him - although he still could not put his finger on it. They were interrupted before either of them could propose an answer, comfortable silence broken and knees close but not touching, by Anne appearing in the doorway with a book tucked under her arm and inviting them both to tea inside.

Whatever serious moment there was between them went away as she spoke and Louis gestured a thumbs up to her, stating that he would be more than happy to join them.

“Let’s change. I’m parched,” Louis said, his voice higher and louder now.

Harry grinned at his candor.

“Alright. Me too.”

It took a few minutes to dry off and get rid of the towel in a basket, then dress, separately of course. Harry met Louis again at the bottom of the stairs. He tilted his head towards the main sitting room where his mother most loved to be in the afternoon, reading the newspaper, receiving guests, or writing letters to family and friends who lived distantly. Harry sat facing the window, Louis at his right, his mother Anne at the head of the table. Mabel departed earlier for a visit to a friend’s house and Gemma was with her, so it was just the three of them. Harry hoped that there would be fresh biscuits alongside the freshly brewed pot of earl tea, the ones with the jellies in them that he could dip the ends of in there.

“So, Louis,” Anne said aloud once the table had been set. She looked lovely today, Harry thought, although that was true of any day. There was something relaxed in the way she spoke, a brightness at the corner of her cheeks and eyes, and a patient smile upon her face.

“Thank you again for the flowers. They’re lovely. I haven’t seen peonies like these in well, a long time.” She laughed softly and gestured to the vase in the middle. They were lost of their paper wrapping, now free and loose inside the glass fixture, alongside the sunflowers and a couple of other varieties tucked in.

“It was my pleasure. Those are my favourite.”

Louis smiled over the top of his tea cup, which was poised at his lips. Harry set a napkin across his own lap and watched as Louis took a quiet sip, then forced himself to avert his eyes. Even though Louis was a wet vision, his hair still slick and styled in a hurried manner. It didn’t seem to fit with the ensemble he was wearing, proper and colorful and effortless.

“What brings you to Holmes Chapel?”

“My grandfather left me some property here. I’ve been abroad for years so I figured, why not just come home and have another look at it? Come back to England.”

“But your family lives in Doncaster?”

“Yes, for the most part. I miss them quite a lot. Just need different air. You know? To clear my mind.”

He shrugged a little, as if unsure of what else to say to describe his situation without seeking pity or something of the sort, looking down, and Anne nodded. She took a sip of her own tea before setting it down with a slight clink against the saucer beneath it.

“Well, that’s alright. I suppose we all do now and again. We’re happy to have you around Mistmoore as long as you’d like to stay. My children seem particularly fond of you.”

The edge of Harry’s cheeks warmed and he shifted in his seat. He lifted a hand to his forehead as if to cover himself from view and managed a soft laugh.

“Are they?” Louis said back, lifting his head, staring directly at Harry now, his lips barely curved into a pleased, if not surprised, smile and Harry could all but see the most vulnerable, malleable parts of himself slipping out of his body and down to the carpeted floor.

He was already fond of Louis. Perhaps too fond. Perhaps, to the point, where he didn’t know if he wanted to describe it at all with words that could be heard. That he was afraid Louis, who was so amiable and honest without saying very much at all sometimes, who starred in some of the stories Gemma told him, would disappear one day becoming to Harry as if a season of his own.

Harry didn’t want that. He also didn’t know what Louis wanted, as the other half of the matter. He cleared his throat and let his hand fall away from his face, smiling towards Anne and pretending to continue digging into the scone he’d selected from the oval platter beside the flowers. Several minutes passed and Louis and Anne continued to engage in more conversation. There was a word however, that when Harry heard, his mouth full of almond bread, his ears all but perked up like Rufus’ would at a whistle.

“Are you married?”

Louis laughed like he was flattered.  
  
“No, no.”

“Soon to be married then?” Anne pressed on.

“Not that either.”

Harry dropped his cup, fingers fumbling and eyes caught on the angle of Louis’ cheekbones, and it spilled tea all over the place, seeping into the white tablecloth set upon the table like an injury, staining the wood that was luckily already a similar color and despite its chance to cool was still a bit hot, biting his legs through his trousers. He cursed as he stood up, apologised to his mum, then cursed again. He could’ve sworn there was a smile on the butler’s face as he approached to help. Louis didn’t hesitate to offer a napkin too and ask if he was alright.

“Thank you,” Harry started, not exactly sure who he was addressing his words to as he spoke. “I’m - it was clumsy of me. I’ll just go change.”

As he moved to leave the sitting room, Harry was just past the doorway when he heard his name and he stopped in his tracks. It was followed by quiet laughter and the sound of Louis’ voice, but he did not know exactly what was being said. It buzzed around his mind like a swarm of mighty bees, stinging at the back of his ears and his neck by the time he slipped into something else in his room upstairs. At least, he thought, it gave Anne and Louis a good excuse to get to know each other a little.

Upon returning, he was confused to find that the conversation had steered to a different topic. Louis was saying that he would be out of town for a couple of days, but that he would likely return promptly. He loved Holmes Chapel so far, the charm and nature of it.

“I’m sure Harry wouldn’t mind going with you. You’ve got nothing on your schedule, right dear?” his mother said just as he slipped into a different chair (the one he used to be sitting in was slightly spoiled and would have to be treated and aired out).

“Uh, going where?”

“Wolverhampton. To see a friend.”  
  
“Alone?”

“Yes. I don’t mind. It’s not unusual.”

“But that’s far from here,” Harry said, sounding exactly like Anne. He breathed out a laugh upon realising and shook his head. “I- It’s Louis’ decision. I’ve never been there and would like to see it, but I understand the desire for privacy as well.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding.” Louis smiled and there was a light in his eyes once again. “Not at all. Up for a journey, Harry?”

\---

 **The Rose Inn  
** **Wolverhampton, England  
** **July 1882**

Harry and Louis left Holmes Chapel on a Tuesday. The clock in the breakfast room read half past eight. The carriage was taking them to the train station, where they would catch a big steam monster (as Mabel once referred to them), Louis taking the liberty to purchase two seats in advance. It would get them rather close to their destination. It was impossible by horse and carriage, lest it take several arduous days. He followed silently behind Louis once they both disembarked, watching the way he weaved through the public with familiarity and an air of independence, like a tide in his own subtle ocean. The caramel of his hair disappeared and reappeared. Harry watched a couple who was passing by kiss as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages.

He and Louis had spent the entire journey looking out the window, whispering to each other about people’s attire or behavior that sat near by, and in between dozed off into interrupted naps as the great train jolted across the English landscape. Harry awoke at one point to find Louis’ head resting against his shoulder. He made no effort to change it, the light seeping in through one of the windows, past the curtains, and highlighting Louis’ cheek.

They hadn’t brought any trunks, just two knapsacks large enough for each of their clothing and personal items for a couple of days - at most, Louis had promised, something uncertain in his eyes. Harry had no idea where exactly they were going now, until they parted from the main crowd along the long platform of the town of Aldersley and moved towards the street. Kids without supervision hurried past them, touching pockets as they went.

He tightened his grip on his luggage and glanced around.

“Harry, over here,” Louis called out, waving a hand. He was standing next to a carriage with the door open, other people already inside, and a man atop tying luggage to the roof with a heavy rope.

“Coming.”

“Head in the clouds?” he said to Harry once they were inside, squished between a burly man with a round hat and a mustache and an elderly woman with her hand curled around a long cane. His voice was low. Harry could barely see the smile on his lips, his shoulders and legs touching Louis’ quite tightly, but he heard it in his words.

“Something like that,” was all Harry answered back as the carriage rolled away from the station.

It didn’t seem like very long of a ride before they were standing alone on the side on the road, dust trailing behind the carriage from the dry dirt. Harry squinted against the sun. He looked around to see trees with thick leaves, orange and red, a row of houses that turned around a corner, and a smattering of other buildings.

“I think this is it,” Louis said, slightly uneasy. “Yeah, right there, it says Rose Inn.”

Harry nodded.

“After you,” they both said at the same time.

Louis let out a laugh. Harry extended his hand and gestured towards the somewhat worn down building not more than several paces along the road in front of them. There wasn’t enough room to walk together, so Harry waited as Louis shrugged and turned. Inside, past the creaking door, was what looked to be a small lobby. The walls were lined with paper, but Harry noticed a couple of crinkles and peels in the corners. There was a family in front of them, two kids chasing each other much to the frustration of their mother.

When Louis made it to the desk, he reached down to set the bag at his feet, then began to speak in a hushed tone. One of his hands slipped into his pocket as he did this, pulling a bit of paper money out.

Harry felt his brow furrow, but given half the utter boredom at home some days, he was happy to be out and about. Well, sort of. Minutes went by until Louis was shaking the man’s hand, scribbling something on a ledger and turning back to Harry. He wiggled his eyebrows, looking rather triumphant, and Harry smiled.

“Last room on the books,” Louis said. “Completely full otherwise. Not another place like this for miles, I’d say. And sadly nothing better.”

They went off the main path they entered through and headed to the left, climbing a questionable staircase, Louis barely running his hands over crooked metal numbers until he stopped abruptly and spun around to face Harry. He scratched at his forehead, opening his mouth as if to speak before shaking his head at himself it seemed and began to fumble for the end of the key he was given, in order to insert it into the lock.

“Harry, the thing is…” Louis finally said, before Harry reached past him and pushed the door open without any possible or further ado.

It was then that Harry was able to take in the sight and state of the place, not to mention the faint old smell, the same frail wallpaper that had lost its colours in particular spots, a large armchair and a fireplace, a small desk under a window. There was also a door he presumed led to a bath and in the centre of the room, only…. one bed.

“There’s just one bed,” Harry said, throat getting stuck with a slight feeling.

“Yes,” Louis answered, letting the knapsack slide off his shoulder and into his hands, “Yes, it’s alright. I’ll take the chair. You can stretch those ridiculous legs of yours.”

They stepped further inside and shut the door. Louis set his bag down as Harry looked down at his limbs. He couldn’t help but chew at the inside of his mouth.

_Alright. Okay. They sorted it out, right?_

When nightfall came, Harry would simply sleep in the bed on the regrettably thin looking mattress and Louis would be on the other side of the room looking just as miserable. He hummed to himself and tried to think nothing more of it for the time being.

Harry looked at Louis.

“So, why'd we come all the way out here?”

“To find a man named Liam Payne.” Harry’s face held no change in expression so Louis continued, taking a few steps. “I’ve known him since I was a lad. He sent me a letter a week - or was it two weeks ago now - absolutely convinced his marriage was over.”

“That’s not good.” Harry frowned. “What can we about it?”

Louis sighed, brow scrunching. He shifted his weight and Harry could see the concern spreading itself across every corner of his face the more he thought about it.

“See if he’s alright and get him back on his feet, if not. He’s got a good spirit, but likes spirits a little too much if you catch my meaning. I don’t want to see him take the wrong path.”

“That’s… noble of you, Louis. And kind. Mr. Payne must be lucky to have you as a friend.”

Louis groaned then, with a light laugh, bending at the knee.

“Oblige me by never saying that to him, he’d tease me for it forever.”

Harry nodded, unsure of exactly what else to say. He turned his attention back to the dingy but decent room and rubbed his forehead, before stepping over the creaking wood floor and setting his bag down a top one of the stout cabinets adjacent to the bed. There was a large window, at least, on one side of the room. He watched as Louis coughed against a bit of dust but managed to wrangle it open and let the cool morning air in.

Instantly it felt better.

“You know where he’s at then?” Harry asked eventually, after the two of them moved around and remained in silence, fumbling with belongings from within their luggage. Louis unfolded a paper map and stood with one hand on his hip, like a portrait from a few hundred years earlier, trying to decipher its letterings and symbols.

He nodded without looking up.

“A friend of his took him in last I heard,” Louis explained. “Should still be there. I’ve got the address, uh, whenever you want to go?”

Harry hesitated.

“Should I really come with you? Wouldn’t that make it worse?”

“How so?”

“I-I suppose we’ve never met, Liam and I. He’s in the midst of something rather personal. I don’t want to be an intrusion, is all.”

Louis folded the map into prompt quarters, his lips tugging up, and he took it upon himself to lower onto one knee directly on the wood in front of Harry, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He put a hand on Harry’s left knee and Harry thought his skin was going to start burning, the weight of Louis’ fingers sinking through the fabric of his trousers so quickly.

“He’ll be glad to see someone new. Trust me.” Louis smiled, eyes crinkling. He patted Harry’s leg twice like he was knocking carefully at the gates of somewhere distant and looming.

“Sometimes it’s the best thing for a person.”

That made sense to Harry and besides, after the state of where they would be spending at least the night ahead, he thought that being outside would be nicer. Have a long walk around.

Louis stood and went in the washroom, shutting the door with a faint thud, so Harry decided to take the chance to change his clothing to something more comfortable and less harsh for traveling. He slipped into trousers of a lighter weight and material, simple boots the color of a dark ore, and pulled a plain shirt over his head, rolling up the sleeves. It was just as he was putting his arms into his traveling coat that he noticed Louis standing in the doorway. Bits of his hair across his forehead were wet, as if he splashed his face with water from the sink. His cheeks were slightly pink.

“Ready?” Louis asked, crossing the room and passing Harry. He wrestled the front entry open as well and turned, waiting for an answer.

Harry nodded, swallowing once.

“Yes. I’m all ready.”

They walked for a while along the dirt road, the sun pressing against the back of Harry’s neck, his feet creating dust until Louis charmed an elderly man into giving them a ride on the way home to his farm. They were going the same direction, Louis promised.

Harry and Louis sat next to each other on the small bed of the truck, all limbs inside, as it rumbled slowly along. The tires must have hit a rock or a piece of wood at one point as it jolted them suddenly to Harry’s surprise, one of Harry’s hands gripping even more tightly the edge of the metal wall and the other, to steady himself, was pressed against Louis’ shoulder.

“Easy now,” Louis whispered.

Harry couldn’t help but grin back until he looked away and out at the passing landscape once again. Some while later, the motion stopped and the man got out, yelling back to them that he was about to turn onto a private road and this was as far as he could take them.

Louis shouted back that it was no bother, thanked him for bringing them along, then climbed out of the truck’s metal stomach before extending a hand to Harry without a second thought. They walked for what had to be half a mile, the toes of Harry’s boots covered in dust and a sweat at his brow, before they reached another crop of buildings, mostly residences it seemed, and Louis was searching for what might be the exact clue they needed to decipher which house Liam was currently in.

Aside from, perhaps, shouting all afternoon at open windows. He could imagine Louis doing it anyway.

“Aha!” Louis exclaimed. Harry had no idea what he was looking at, but followed Louis as they passed some overgrown shrubbery and up a stone path. It looked to be a decent size structure, nothing too lavish like back at home, but still impressive in its own way.

Definitely more quaint. He wasn’t sure if anyone was home. Louis lifted a closed fist and gently pounded it against the door. It was silent for a few moments until a lock clicked and the door creaked open. Just barely, then fully, once the person behind it realised that Louis was standing there with a waiting expression.

“You didn’t have to come,” Liam mumbled, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

He had short, neatly trimmed brown hair that looked similar to Louis’ except it was one or two shades darker. His face was lined with visible stubble, his face a bit square-ish and there was something about the way he stood that made him look tired. But Harry could see something light up in his eyes at the sight of visitors.

At least, likely different ones that he expected.

“Nonsense. ‘Course I did,” was all Louis said back, pulling him into a hug without pause for a handshake. They patted each other's backs sturdily like old friends, just as Louis had told Harry about, before Liam noticed Harry standing there beside a potted flower.

“Who’s this?”

“Oh! Liam Payne, meet Harry Styles,” Louis said, stepping back so that there was now space between the three of them. Harry extended a hand and offered a slight smile.

“Harry, this is Liam.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Harry cut in. “I’m his - well, he’s my -”

Louis laughed.

“This is Gemma’s brother. We ran into each other in Holmes Chapel, didn’t we?”

Harry looked up to gauge the expression on Liam’s face. His brow was raised but he offered a smile in return, best he could Harry suspected, and let go of Harry’s hand - thinking no more of it and waving them inside. He explained as they stepped through the doorway that the owners, good friends of his, were out on holiday for the next few weeks. Gave him the key and let him hole up for awhile.

“What about your parents?” Louis asked.

“I didn’t want to - um, go and see my parents. Mum’s not been well. I shouldn’t stress them.”

“Has she really? Send her my love,” Louis said quietly, almost so that Harry could barely hear a thing.

Instead he turned his attention to the room they were standing in now. Personal trinkets lined empty spaces, mixed in with family portraits and artwork along the walls. There was couch off to one side that looked a bit of a sad shade of white, and a pair of boots for mud were by the door.

A tall clock stood in the corner, ticking. There was a fire place with no fire in it, a desk underneath a long window that partially overlooked the main path and the greenery they passed on the way in. Certainly it felt as if there were a proper place for everything and it was so homey, and smelled of pine and gingerbread, that Harry, for a dazed moment, wondered what his life in a house like this would be like.

Liam offered to make a pot of tea, which Louis accepted immediately and asked for extra sugar. Harry smiled and mentioned that he normally took his without. His throat was dry; he would be glad to have something to enjoy whilst sitting down for a bit.

“Have you been drinking today?” he heard Louis ask in a low voice, as Harry crossed the fireplace and looked at the frames just slightly blanketed with fresh dust.

“No,” Liam said gruffly. “I swear I ‘aven’t.”

“This week?”

“A bit. Piss off.”

Louis sighed.

“Alright. Let’s just sit and chat.”

If Harry could kick himself underneath the table, he probably should’ve, after taking a careful sip of the fresh brew and looking up at Liam.

“So, your wife -” he started awkwardly.

Liam took a sip too then waited several moments before responding, whether out of timidness, anger or melancholy Harry had no idea. Harry’s skin prickled along the back of his neck ominously and he rubbed it with one hand. He was about to apologise when Liam set down his own tea cup and began to speak.

“Sophie. Her name’s Sophie. She’s kicked me out.”

“For what?” Louis interrupted, changing his position so that he was facing Liam more head on now, one elbow bent and resting against the wooden tabletop. His eyebrows were poised, suggesting Liam’s letter had not contained much factual information.

“Nothing.”

Louis snorted.

“Really, Liam? Nothing at all?”

Liam shrugged, eyes cast down.

“Well, I don’t know. She hasn’t been speaking to me and - I went to visit Carolyn and everything blew up after that!”

Harry blinked.

“Who’s that? A relative?”

Liam shook his head.

“No, an old neighbor and family acquaintance. I heard she was in town so I went to see her -”

“Tell me, what exactly did Sophie say before you left that day?”

“Nothing. I didn’t tell her.”

Harry and Louis exchanged a look just as Louis spit out half his tea on his own sleeve. He coughed, trying to hide a gleeful laugh visible in the lines of his face.

“Mate -” Louis managed, “You can’t go and see other women when your wife is five months with child and not tell her. She must think you’re having an affair.”

Liam turned red like a beet.

“What? I’m not! Swear to God and everything in this house including the two of you - stop laughing at me, Tommo.”

Harry’s lips twitched at the sight of their interaction, Liam’s apparent grumpiness at his own simple but oblivious mistake and Louis’ crinkles by his eyes, relieved to know the situation would probably and hopefully be sorted out in no time.

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis groaned, “You’re killing me. Listen, we’ll fetch her something nice and you just have to go and grovel - I mean apologise.”

Harry couldn’t help the moon crater digging itself into his cheek. He met Louis’ eyes and shyly looked down, still smiling. His mouth had a brain of its own, his face, too much sensitivity.

“I’m sure things will be fine in no time,” Harry nodded eagerly and chimed in finally.

Liam stood up, shaking his head, his own mouth barely curving into a smile now too. The legs of his chair scraped against the floor.

“Want anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Harry confirmed, looking up. And then it was quiet, only distant noises in the kitchen, and Harry was sitting alone with Louis.

He scrunched up his nose.

“He’s a good man,” Louis continued, keeping his voice contained so that only Harry could hear him. “Gets stuck in his own head sometimes. That’s why I worry about him.”

Harry hummed.

“And do you? Get stuck, I mean.”

Louis smiled and it was softer than the one he wore with Liam sitting beside him. He parted and wet his lips barely before looking down at his hands cradling the small tea cup.

“Yes. I would sure be lying if I said no.”

It only took a couple of hours at the maximum, Liam taking them down to the shops and together the three of them stood examining potential presents in the window until Louis finally pushed Liam inside. With a nice silver pearl necklace, they both accompanied Liam to his house and disappeared into the bushes, giggling to each other like school children, as soon as it opened. Eventually Sophie invited them all in, where they had another cup of tea. Harry could see, despite just meeting him, that Liam seemed tense in the shoulders and Sophie, on the other hand, was polite but tearful. He decided to excuse himself and Louis and they went back outside.

Harry lost track of how long the private conversation was, until a grinning and triumphant Liam emerged. He shook both of their hands.

“Thank you. It’s all settled now, I think - er, I hope. I explained everything.”

Louis smiled.

“Glad to hear it.”

“She said she missed me,” Liam murmured.

Harry could feel a twist in his gut at the thought of being wonderfully and calmly reunited with a lover, even after such a short period of time, so he forced himself to look away from the twinkle that had taken up residence on Liam’s face. He cleared his throat and stared down at his boots, wondering when they would get to have a bit of dinner or something more substantial than tea.

Just then, Sophie re-appeared in the doorway, hands gathered at her apron, and insisted that Harry and Louis stay for a meal. There was extra to go around. Harry nodded and smiled, stepping forward eagerly, Louis a chatty blur somewhere beside him.

\---

The door shut behind them, after bidding Liam goodnight, and Harry promptly stepped over to the bed and fell down. He sighed, letting his feet dangle just slightly off the edge. Louis stood on a space of wood, watching him.

“Well, that was easy, wasn’t it?” Harry said, lifting his head.

Louis chuckled.  
  
“Quite. Everything seemed oddly in our favour.”

And then it grew quiet for a while after that between the two of them, Louis latching the window shut as the evening chill began to seep in. Harry prepared and lit the fireplace, stoking the small flame until it grew large enough to both warm and light the room. He sighed contentedly, rubbing his hands together.

Louis sat sideways in the armchair, legs draped over the side lazily, holding a map up to the light. Harry moved to the desk, adjusting the wobbling chair, and decided to spend a few moments writing in his journal. Every so often, one of them would cough and the other would laugh, but never in coordination. Harry felt quite happy to be in such a calm space.

When his eyelids finally began to droop, his heart beating slowly and steadily, his hands slipping from the papers he was working on, he turned to look at Louis who was resting his eyes in such a manner that made it look as if he were dancing, his foot tapping along to a song Harry could not hear.

He put his things away, blew out the candle sitting just nearby, and after a couple of minutes or so in the other room, moved to pull his shirt over his head completely out of habit. He caught Louis staring straight at his exposed torso, still in the chair, painting his own cheeks with crimson instantly.

“Um, sorry - I -” He paused. “I usually sleep naked, to tell you the truth.”

Louis leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

“No one’s stopping you.”

Harry let out a breath of laughter.

 _Keep it together, Styles_ , he thought to himself. _It’s normal, friendly banter, right?_

“Maybe not tonight,” Harry conceded finally, looking away and reaching around in the dim light for something, although he did not know what. Perhaps he was doing it simply to keep his mind from going where he thought it might once again.

“Suit yourself,” Louis murmured from the other side of the room, but Harry almost couldn’t hear it properly.

He climbed into bed, still in his own dirty trousers. He stared up at the ceiling, too aware of Louis’ movements as he spent what felt like another fifteen minutes under the light reading before crossing the room and going into the bath.

When he emerged, without a single word, Harry caught a faint whiff of goat’s milk soap. With the fire slowly burning out, Harry closed his eyes and fell asleep, relaxing further and further.

The room was cold when he awoke. Like ice. Harry blinked and tilted his head towards the moonlight, trying to get his eyes to adjust even for a moment. He wondered where he was, why he was lying alone, but upon stirring underneath the scratchy sheets remembered the room and - he remembered Louis.

He sat up slowly, his head still heavy with fatigue and dreams, and looked over at the chair, where a figure was curled up. Louis looked small. Harry stared through the darkness and stayed still long enough to realise that Louis was actually shivering.

Harry said Louis’ name, throat hoarse.

It was still quiet, except now for the beat of his heart within his ears, as he waited but nothing happened. He couldn’t tell if Louis was awake too, or lost in a land of dreams. Harry scooted over in the bed, reaching around for the blanket and sheet, and pulling both back enough so that the mattress was more exposed and there was an empty space beside him.

He looked up at Louis again, but didn’t hear or see anything for several moments.

He went back to sleep.

The sun was shining in through the lone window, despite the thin curtain draped across it, and illuminated Harry’s eyelids. He rubbed his eyes with one hand before opening them, squinting carefully. He was on his side and one of his arms was extended past the pillow.

His skin felt warm and it was then following the angle of his arm that he realised Louis was lying right beside him, the sheet and blanket draped over his body and his face peaceful. Louis’ hand was outstretched, palm and fingers curled loosely around Harry’s wrist.

The sight brought a flush to Harry’s cheeks and suddenly he felt self conscious. He didn’t move, breathing slowly and staring at their mixed skin, the warm and slightly uncomfortable feeling that it brought now that the nighttime chill had mostly disappeared. It wasn’t a large bed either and Harry could reach out and touch Louis more if he wanted to. Just as he was thinking of getting up without trying to wake him, Louis began to stir.

He blinked, golden eyelashes fluttering. He looked at their hands so close together, but made no attempt to move, his blue eyes eventually landing on Harry’s face.

Harry thought Louis looked a bit shy in the morning. He smiled.

“Cold last night, wasn’t it?

Louis took a moment to answer, flexing his fingers slightly and rubbing Harry’s skin.

“Yes. It was.”

He finally pulled his hand away and rubbed at his own face.

“Sorry,” he let out in a whisper. Harry bit at his lip and tried to smile. He didn’t mind it. Not as much as perhaps one previous year he thought he might. It was… actually pleasant. But Louis’ expression was hard to decipher, as Louis rolled onto his back then stretched his legs and sat up. He turned back to Harry and it was hardly anything but a picturesque moment.

“Thank you,” Louis said.

Harry moved to sit up too.

“For what?”

Louis stared at him, wiping at his mouth, then chuckled.

A moment passed.

“Better get going. Have a bit of breakfast before the train leaves at ten. I bet everyone’s missed you.”

Harry swallowed and squinted up against the light.

“For good reason,” Harry said simply, before turning away without another hesitation, as if a butterfly had grown to match his size and let him sit upon its wings as he rolled out of the bed and ran his hands through his messy hair. They gathered their belongings in silence, Harry looking under the desk and bed twice, and eventually walking the half mile back until they managed to catch a ride. It seemed that through the entire journey home, Harry noticed as the minutes flew by, that one of Louis’ hands was perched on his seat just beside Harry’s hand.

***

 **Zayn Malik’s Estate  
** **Holmes Chapel, England** **  
** **August 1882**

Nearly a month passed. Harry was surprised to see Louis again on the steps just outside of Zayn Malik’s residence (located on the outskirts of the opposite side of town), his fingers fumbling at a rolled cigarette and mouth spread into a crooked smile upon meeting a pair of eyes, and realising he wasn’t standing alone anymore. The cold air nipped at the tops of Harry’s ears and sides of his hands. All day long the sky had threatened to rain, but not even the faintest drizzle had broken through.

Harry adjusted his long black coat to fit more comfortably around his shoulders, as it had jostled a bit during the journey over, and stepped out of the way in order to let other guests chatting amongst themselves through to the entrance. It was probably nice and warm inside.

“Styles,” Louis said. “Small world, isn’t it?”

Harry rubbed his chin.

“Dunno. I haven’t seen the end of it yet.”

Louis laughed, plucking the cigarette from his mouth.

Harry felt his lips change, a new smile barely hiding itself, and he shrugged slightly. He turned around to see who was coming in behind them now as he heard loud sounds of laughter. It was nobody he recognised. Zayn was that sort of man; other than money, he had relationships of all kinds.

He was also one of Harry’s best mates.

Harry glanced at his wristwatch. When he turned back, Louis was looking at him, the white tip still unlit.

“Ah,” Louis muttered with a quiet exhale, carefully putting it away in a tin container he pulled from his chest pocket. “Let’s come back between courses. Nick me some matches first.”

“Fair enough,” Harry agreed. He hadn’t smoked anything in a long time, but wetting his lips he was sure tempted to start again. There were likely fresh cigars sleeping in velvet waiting for them inside too. If for nothing else, they were fun to look at.

He followed Louis, trying not to stare at the back of his perfectly combed hair, as they slipped past the pair of aged butlers posted at the door, greeting each of the guests.

Harry personally wanted to see Zayn straight away, take note of what glorious outfit he chose to wear for the evening. Both of them were ushered into a smaller parlor room, where a solid group of other guests were clinking crystal glasses.

Zayn stood in the corner far across the room, calmly raising what looked to be a dark caramel-esque liquid to his lips, two men and a petite woman with a feather-brimmed fan standing nearby in her rambling speech, almost as if they’d forgotten that he existed.

His outfit was delectable as expected. Muted but vibrant and clean. His hair, nearly gone, daring, and short to his head. But he wore it all incredibly well, patterned fabric draped around his neck above his ensemble. Harry grinned at the sight and slipped past several people, narrowly missing elbows and shoulders. They usually never shook hands, being so close and finding it oddly performative, but for some reason, tonight, Zayn extended one with a nod and Harry took Zayn’s hand in both of his.

“You look marvelous,” Harry said, dipping his head. “As usual.”

“Not bad yourself.”

Harry suddenly became acutely aware of Louis coming up right next to him and standing by his elbow. He cleared his throat and Harry caught a glimpse of a different smile, this one more polite than anything else, offering a handshake to Zayn as well.

“Good to see you, Malik.”

For Christ’s sake, did everyone in town know Louis before him? Everyone in England for that matter? Harry watched as Zayn set his shoulders and glanced around at his guests, seeming content, but it was always hard to tell what he was thinking.

“Likewise. Family well?”

Louis nodded.

“That I know of, yes. Yours?”

“Fine. Mum and Dad are in Ireland at the moment. I assume everything’s alright. Haven’t heard much from them, so it must be, uh, going well.”

Harry smiled at this. The Malik and Horan families were old, old friends and so it was only ever natural that their youngest sons grew close over the years as well. Closer than imagined, actually. He didn’t know how much of this Louis knew or somewhat was catching onto.

What his thoughts were on such a frank subject. Harry suddenly felt a prickle at the back of his neck and his palms were warm. He pressed them together and looked around too, not taking in whatever it is that Louis’ response was. Good or bad.

Time for a drink. Or a few if he was being honest. Zayn carried some of the best liquors around. (Imported regularly from who knows where.) But no more than a few, just like he promised himself that day he spoke privately to his mother in the library. The way she looked at him with a quiet sadness in her eyes.

“Where is Niall?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Around.”

Zayn smiled with his eyes then, saying nothing more directly to Harry or Louis, instead turning to one of the staff to dispose of his used glass, and then, raising his hands into the air, invited everyone down the hallway to join him for dinner.

People filled into the biggest dinner room, one Harry had been through and run through drunkenly many times, the table so elongated it was rather impossible to hear the people at the other end. Zayn took a seat for himself somewhere in the middle of the mild clamor. Harry couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed as a tall woman with a beautiful swan brooch slid past them and lowered herself into one of the seats beside him.

The seat on Zayn’s right side was kept empty.

The beautiful oak wood was covered with long, white fabric with an embroidered pattern. Round double-stacked plates trailed down and around the entire thing. The setting was complete with perfectly lined utensils, tall glasses, and a row of flowers alternating with empty spaces. Louis sat across from Harry, leaving him sandwiched in against the table  near two individuals that he had never met before. As they waited for the first course, Harry found himself striking up conversation and trying, for some reason, to keep himself distracted.

He introduced himself and discovered their names - Bryon Jones and Evie Grant - and soon also the fact that they were recently engaged to be married. They both lived (and first met) in Manchester, however Mr. Jones’ parents had recently moved to Holmes Chapel and wanted them to live closer by. Eventually Harry looked past Mr. Jones, who spoke animatedly about his parents’ old farm with two hands and almost knocked over his own wine glass, and spotted a head of dark brown hair approaching the table. He watched as Niall put a hand against Zayn’s shoulder, barely and discreetly, then slipped into the chair next to him despite the fact that it was supposed to be men seated in every other.

No one seemed to care.

Throughout the meal, as the sound of fine silver scraping against every plate on the table echoed through the room and mixed in with every variety and layer of personal conversation, Zayn leaned in to whisper quiet things to Niall, but never let himself get too close.

Such restraint seemed impossible in Harry’s opinion.

Niall often laughed hard at everything.

He was a military man, taking after his beloved father, his clothing decorated in its corners with a few medallions. They placed Niall on an indefinite leave however, due to the severity of his knee injury, and from what Harry understood, he’d been living in Holmes Chapel with Zayn ever since.

Harry and Niall weren’t particularly close after all, but there was something about his demeanor and general friendliness that made Harry glad to see him in the same place now and again. The feeling was a bit like seeing the sun after a long rain.

And Niall made Zayn _so_ happy. Even as someone who wasn’t the first to reveal his emotions outright, Harry could tell, could read Zayn well enough to realise so.

Harry looked away from his friends during the serving of broiled salmon portions with sprinkles of oregano to find that Louis was staring at him over the edge of his gold-rimmed glass. Louis sipped carefully, fingers poised on the glass, then lowered his eyes as if the thought had disappeared as quickly as it came, and moved to set it down.

After three drawn-out courses and two glasses of a very fragrant rose wine, Harry finally stood up and excused himself from the table, feeling something stirring in his chest that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. He bowed politely to Ms. Grant first then to Mr. Jones, who was now holding a handkerchief in one hand and telling yet another long-winded story, and promised he’d be back to continue their conversation. Just wanted a bit of fresh air while they waited for the last course of lavish dessert and dancing. He wondered if he could find those matches.

Keeping his eyes forward and along the lines of the carpet Harry managed to get past half the guests, mainly still seated, only one or two standing up, and out to the hallway when there was a familiar voice behind him.

“Leaving already?” Louis asked lowly.

“No,” Harry said, “I’m going for a walk.”

He made a left and turned towards the front door, simply putting one foot in front of the other to move his body’s weight, feeling slightly drowsy and warm, when Louis lightly pinched his sleeve from behind and tugged it back in the other direction.

He coughed, alcohol coating his throat.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Louis suggested. “No one’s watching.”

“Why?” Harry stopped walking and asked, observing Louis’ expression. His eyes were wide in return, and sparkling with alcohol too, his mouth open into what seemed like an endeared smile.

Louis jutted his head towards the stairs.

Other than being brilliant and well-traveled when it came to the world, Harry thought to himself then, Louis was something wild and rebellious right at home in England too.

“For an adventure.” Louis’ words were sticking together. “C’mon _._ Zayn won’t mind.”

“Won’t he?”

Harry didn’t resist any further. Louis let go of his arm.

Their feet were light on the velvet staircase that trailed up to the first floor, the edges bordered by a dark shade of iron, twisted and guiding. Harry ran one of his hands across it, feeling cold for a moment, before he eventually realised that he was stopped at the top of the stairs.

Louis kept going down the hallway, peeking and leaning into different rooms with the doors left open. He knocked on others, but lightly and not as if he expected any answer.

This level was just as stunning as the previous in its design, though definitely more minimal. Nothing much to be seen between the doorways besides thick carpets, abstract paintings of swirled colours and animals hung upon the once empty spaces on the wall and there was a moulding along the top against the ceiling.

“Where is everyone?” Louis whispered, turning to face Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes, lips quirked.

“Downstairs. Enjoying their dessert...which, you know, we’re missing.”

Louis scoffed and waved a hand in dismissal.

He stopped moving so he grew bigger as Harry crossed the soft carpet, his shiny shoes almost wanting to slide against its texture, and he noticed that the moonlight was somehow streaming in through a window and framing Louis’ angled face.

“Same old, same old.”

Harry frowned.

“I like cake, especially vanilla,” he countered, “and biscuits and pastries -”

“Isn’t it boring?”

There was something sharp in Louis’ blue eyes as he spoke that shone and fought against the delicate light. A crease had worked itself into his brow in a matter of seconds. It didn’t seem like he was talking about the last moments of the meal they’d been invited for by a friend anymore.

“Living in a big house? Nothing inside it, but air and furniture?”

Harry swallowed as Louis spoke. He thought about what he said yesterday, wondering if Louis remembered any of it now. Trying to decipher what else he was trying to say.

On the one hand, he adored the look of it. The life of it. The ability to have freedom and exquisite art and clothing at his very fingertips. So much was always there, never wanted for, and yet… He looked down at his own hands in front of him, fingers pinched together, unsure, knowing somehow, that he felt the exact same way about emptiness. At least in his own personal, individual life. That he had felt it for a long time before they ever met and it was only now that he could see there might be a chance to change the future.

“Yes,” he said quietly, meeting Louis’ focused gaze.

Harry expected Louis to say something more, to continue the thought but - his lips curled into a slight smile and he nodded, content with one syllable, and looking around then gestured at the rest of the hallway.

“Shall we?” Louis offered, Harry’s mind flashing back to walking through the garden at Mistmoore. He smiled too, trying to let the nagging heaviness in his heart sink away.

With a nod, he joined Louis in practically running down the long space to see who could win until they suddenly heard voices - and drunken, shrieking laughter. Harry stopped when Louis did and Louis, suddenly alert, pressed his body quite close to Harry’s so that they were both positioned against the wall just before the corner.

“I -”

Harry tried, but Louis put his hand over Harry’s lips and hushed him quietly.

It sounded like a candlestick falling over and the thump of a cabinet against the wall until - Harry realised - upon the beginning of the short, soft moans of a higher tone that slipped past the partially open door and into the air beside them that there must be someone in the room they hadn’t yet passed.

And she wasn’t alone. Harry felt a nervous laugh bubble up inside his throat and Louis only pressed his hand harder against Harry’s mouth, saying nothing, looking at his fingers tight and together, eyes dancing up to Harry’s waiting gaze. He looked away then, tilted his head, frozen.

They waited for no more than a minute or two as the sounds grew louder, of talking and sweet urging, the melody of their expressions going at a faster rate and higher up into the edges of the room, filling it to its brim. Harry’s cheeks grew warm over the brief course of this and he tried to shift his weight, ignoring the heat creeping into the region of his lower body. Until there were two distinct sounds of pleasure and release.

Louis turned back to Harry again and eyes a bit dazed, pulled his hand away as if he were touching fire itself (and Harry could breath again, thank God) before stepping back. He retraced their steps and hurried down the hallway, the air suddenly thick between them. Harry could feel bits of his groomed hair now falling out of place as he ran to keep up and there was no such time to fix it or even find a mirror.

The ground floor greeted them with music. They went back to the dining hall, feet chasing, and both stood silently in the doorway for a moment to see it empty, dishes and such being piled aside for later washing. All of the guests who stayed were piled into a space closer to the back of the house, Harry guessed, where they could dance and drink for a couple more hours at least.

“Wait -” Harry pleaded, the word getting stuck in his throat.

Clearly Louis didn’t feel like dancing as without a single word he hurried to retrieve his coat from amongst many hanging in the nearby coat closet and waving off a tired butler that approached them to help, pushed open the heavy front door and disappeared into the cold night.

He stayed for a while but the air felt different, felt empty. He didn’t know what to say. When Harry returned home, he couldn’t sleep.

So instead he laid on his back and stared at the empty ceiling of his bedroom. Replayed the entire night in his mind. Down to the way that Louis had looked at him - the moment he touched Harry’s lips like it was nothing and everything all at once - and it was a long while before Harry, overcome with the sudden weight of exhaustion and satisfaction, finally let his cheek press against the pillow and drifted off.

\---

Two days later, a letter in slightly crinkled beige parchment arrived. Harry was halfway through his breakfast and wiped away the crumbs stuck to his mouth with a cloth napkin as it was delivered straight to him by one of the staff. There was a simple scrawl on the front of the envelope that he did not immediately recognise.

_“H.”_

He turned it over to see no other inscriptions or symbols, so, immediately curious, he opened the envelope and pulled out the brief note inside, which read:

_“Please come to my summer estate tomorrow, if you are available. I will send a carriage at 10 o’clock. There’s something I’d like to show you._

_Just you._

_Regards,  
_ _Louis Tomlinson”_

Harry set the note down next to his coffee, staring at the letters of Louis’ name, the way the pen lifted the ink off the letters. He imagined Louis hunched over a desk as he wrote it, color splashed accidentally against his cheek or perhaps, he was sitting in his own parlor and looking into the fireplace.

When Harry showed Gemma, who was late to making an appearance yet again, what Louis had sent and how he requested only Harry’s presence, she covered her mouth with one hand. Nonetheless it was easy to see the amusement displaying itself in his sister’s crinkled eyes.

“Oh, Harry,” she squeaked.

Harry’s mouth was full of a banana-flavored pastry. He shrugged with one shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled slightly, trying to chew and talk at the same time. “Why does he want to see me again? If that night was a disaster.”

Gemma sighed.

“It wasn’t. That’s why he wrote this.”

Harry almost choked then. She chuckled quietly as he pounded against his own chest with an open palm and she moved to sit down at the table opposite him before reaching for the slice of loaf bread. He swallowed everything, including her words.

“You should go and don’t be late,” is all Gemma hummed before unscrewing the lid to the grape marmalade. His heart began to pound inside his chest, a handful of questions swirling around in his mind suddenly brought to life again, and _oh God, what on Earth was he going to wear?_

\---

 **Louis Tomlinson’s Estate  
** **Holmes Chapel, England  
** **August 1882**

When the carriage pulled up to Louis’ estate, it was, in fact, a beautiful sight. More concise than others. Harry’s nose was pressed against the window, eyes searching from corner to corner. Once he disembarked, he looked around to gain a better view of everything and took in a deep breath of fresh England air.

It was noticeably smaller than Mistmoore, on a different stretch of land, the neighbors distantly visible through the trees. There seemed to be one main building off a short path, with a small fountain featuring a poised, naked mermaid out front. Vines of dark green trailed across the sides of the walls by the entrance and mixed in with faintly purple flowers. As Harry moved past, he noticed that they were carnations.

No one in any uniform greeted him at the front door after he knocked twice. Instead, the sleek white wood with a silver trim creaked open quietly to reveal Louis standing there. He looked… well, different from before. His hair was looser and untouched by gel or mist, his feet were bare, and his clothing was disheveled.

“You came,” Louis said. There was an air of surprise in his dry voice.

Harry kept his arms together behind his back.

His shoulders rose and fell.

“I did.” His lips quirked up too, in spite of this, but just barely. He cleared his throat a moment later. Waiting. Feeling the breeze behind him.

“Oh, come inside! Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Care for a drink?” Louis offered. “Anything you want.”

Harry shook his head.

“That’s lovely. I’m fine.”

They stood in the outer edges of the foyer for several quiet moments, Louis slipping one hand into his left trouser pocket. He seemed a little shaken and surprised, his expression torn between familiar hospitality and an intimate casualness that overhung from their last encounters, lingering in the air beside them. So Harry smiled and asked for a tour of the place.

They walked slowly through the entire first floor - the main house was comprised of only two floors above ground - and Louis explained how he had come to live there. Starting with the difficult but necessary separation of his own parents at a rather young age and his desire to be something decent in society. There was at the center of it all the birth and care of his five sisters (some half-sisters) over the course of enough years: Caroline (twenty two), Margaret (twenty), the twins Annie and Violet (both sixteen), and the very youngest, Tillie, who was only ten.

Caroline was engaged to be married last he had heard and Margaret, a wild card as Louis described her, was able to find a temporary position at a tailor’s shop. The twins wanted to continue their education despite the obstacles and they helped at a quaint bakery on the side, when they weren’t pulling pranks on anyone. Harry asked where they learned such things from and Louis raised a brow innocently, but did not answer.

A couple of Louis’ uncles on his mother’s side and a distant cousin were invested in the booming progress of the railroads now, both throughout Britain and even in America, which was building up their family name good and well. His grandfather on his father’s side passed away going on five years ago and left Louis this exact estate as he mentioned before, which he said once they’d come full circle in their walkabout the house and were standing in the front foyer again. He didn’t really use any of the space until he got back from Spain, when he first visited it, but did not feel right staying. So Louis hopped through temporary jobs after that, without giving Harry very many details now about it, to keep himself going and his spirits alive.

London didn’t prove entirely better, although Louis felt more connected to the society. He recalled the day that he met Gemma in a charming flat and Harry couldn’t help but let lines work themselves into the corners of his eyes as he smiled, hearing the way she was so truly, and rightfully, loved.

“I was meant to be there,” Harry commented. “That night.”

Louis’ eyebrows raised a little.

“Really? You were?”

Harry shrugged, letting out a quiet hum.

“It’s alright. I think things have a way of sorting out.”

Harry noticed Louis looking past his shoulders, perhaps gauging the sudden disappearance of the sun, and then back at him. He smiled, looking calmer and more awake than just an hour and a half ago or so. He cleared his throat. There was still not a single sound in the entire house, but their own feet and tongues.

“This hall now,” Louis suggested.

“Lead away,” Harry teased back, intrigued.

Harry followed Louis down to the other end of the hallway, turning a corner then stopping in front of a set of double doors. His heart was beating faster inside his chest, not sure what to expect after Louis’ incredible summarising of his life, and the candidness with which he shared himself.

Anything could be behind the doors.

Anything in the world.

Louis paused, waiting for Harry to feel the suspense, or perhaps steadying himself to bear the weight of it, before gripping the gold handles and pulling them downward. He pushed the doors open to reveal a simple rectangular room. The walls were barren except for a round clock that changed with every passing second.

There were paintings everywhere.

Some were incomplete, contrasts of dark colors with white, untouched canvas. Others were wide horizontal landscapes, splattered with tiny detailed shapes of clustered flowers and the ripple of unidentified water. Lining the floor was a misshapen plastic sheet, as well as several brushes and tin cans (presumably of paints). Harry stepped inside and looked at the portraits nearest him - the one right beside him was the image of an older woman, with visible wrinkles in her cheeks and forehead, her hands pressed together as if in some sort of prayer. Her eyes were closed.

“Th - these are yours?”

“Mm.” Louis bit his lip. “They are mine indeed.”

Harry balked. The spot of paint on Louis’ hand that Harry saw when he was gesturing and talking suddenly made sense.

“I- God, Louis. This is incredible. And this. This! How in heaven’s name did you ever create this?” He jumped around from one display of art to the other and had to stop himself from touching them - or knocking anything over - like a wild baby deer.

His laughs of disbelief fluttered into the room. The early afternoon light from the time Harry arrived was gone and shadows were filling the room. Bits of dust still swirled. Inspiration probably lived within the microfibers of the curtains. Louis didn’t say anything else, eyes dropped to an obviously half-blank painting that was separated from everything else and currently sat upon an easel by the large windows.

Harry followed Louis’ line of sight and stepped closer to it, but not too close of course, leaning down to look at the lines of the half clothed chest - and shoulders, then up the neck to the jaw line. Wait a minute. His heart tightened in his chest as his eyes scanned the composition. The glass of the window in his bedroom, the way it looked in the dead of night, flashed in his mind.

“This is me,” Harry whispered. “This is me, isn’t it?”

It must have been what Louis wanted to show him. But he wondered, why all the secrecy or fuss? Once he straightened up, he saw Louis standing beside him and looking out the window rather wistfully before turning back to look at Harry. It was just a painting after all. The best artists could take anything, even a rock, from memory and put it onto paper.

“It isn’t complete, clearly,” Louis said, “But yes. What do you think?”

“It’s fantastic. The colors you use here, the skin here - I - really don’t know what to say. It seems so real.”

Louis set his shoulders, like he’d been practising and that was his cue.

“Then let me say something, please.” Louis pressed on, “I need to apologise for my behavior the other night. It was reckless and rude and - I should’ve stayed.”

“It wasn’t -” Harry tried to interject.

Louis shook his head.

“It was. You deserve more than that. You deserve attention and promise. I suppose that’s why I haven’t finished the piece yet.” Louis paused, swallowing once, the next words said with conviction.

“Because I want to know how your story ends, and I-I want to be in it.”

Harry’s mouth fell open to respond but nothing came out, nothing at all, his body frozen until he was blinking rapidly and feeling overwhelmed with some kind of shock that tickled every inch of him so thoroughly that he began to back away from the easel - and Louis, who was looking apologetic now, his blue eyes worried. He fumbled for the glass door behind them and pushed it open, running out into the open air. Once he got past the bushes, he kept running into the grass, a large willow tree sitting on the near horizon like a marker. Harry aimed for it, trying for breathe and damned himself in the process for getting his shoes all dirty.

He ran and ran.

It was then, heart pounding, thoughts racing and urging the other parts of him with all his might to stop and turn back, that Harry gracefully lost his footing and fell, landing on his side.

Harry rolled onto his back, clutching his surely bruised arm to his chest, and tightly squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He lay against the ground like a rag doll. He could still hear Louis’ voice calling out to him and growing louder, but it was the sudden, sharp crack of thunder that caused him to open his eyes again.

“Harry! Are you alright?”

Thick and ominous clouds had filled the sky and he waited, at the complete mercy of nature, as the raindrops began to fall upon his face. Soon the water began to drop in what felt like entire buckets and Harry, out of breath and feeling as if his emotions had finally caught up with him, could do nothing else but laugh with happiness.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes, good as new!” he shouted back. Probably a bit too loudly.

Louis was soaking wet now too, his white shirt sticking to his chest and revealing more than paint on a canvas, the lines of his muscles visible despite his petite frame and Christ, he was beautiful. His thin trousers were completely drenched too and Harry forced himself not to indulge as Louis bent down beside him, thighs taut. He helped Harry sit up, firm fingers against his back and arm.

“That was quite a fall.”

“Yes,” Harry blurted out again.

“What - what are you doing?”

Louis sounded both amused and without breath.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, his throat hoarse and water dripping down his lips. Oh, it would be a miracle if neither of them caught a cold after this. Anne would be furious, and Gemma on the other hand wouldn’t, if they knew that Harry was sitting outside as the rain poured down upon his head.

At least he wasn’t alone.

_He wasn’t alone anymore._

Harry gripped Louis’ arm and together they managed to get him upright without slipping back into the mud that was beginning to reveal itself at their feet. Thunder boomed loudly again, a shock in the sky, and it sounded closer. They better go. Back to the house. In silence they moved together, Harry holding Louis’ hand without hesitation, as Louis both pulled and guided him out of the pouring rain until they were inside once again. It wasn’t more than a moment of relieved breaths and involuntary shivers as the warmth engulfed them before Harry noticed their faces were almost touching.

“Now the score is even,” Harry murmured in a voice barely above a whisper.

His lips were turned up and his gaze fixed for a passing moment down upon Louis’ mouth. He looked up to see Louis watching him too, something in his eyes that Harry was only noticing for the first time.

It was the realisation that their feelings were, in fact, mutual.

Louis waited, chest heaving, hair dripping, and parted his own lips longingly. He looked as though he might say something but instead he put a desperate hand against Harry’s lower back to anchor him close. He leaned in and pressed his cold shivering mouth against Harry’s. They kissed for what felt like eternity, Harry moving slowly until his back was pressed up against the glass door, until he realised he was shaking so much from the sopping wet clothing that he couldn’t bear it anymore.

Louis let out a shaky laugh. He rest his forehead against Harry’s.

“Best get everything off,” he said.

Harry nodded wordlessly.

He wiped at his own face and slipped out of his now squeaky boots, only to feel a sharp and painful twinge at his back. He cursed and stumbled slightly, Louis steadying him immediately and taking Harry’s arm. He put it around his shoulder and grabbed a good hold of Harry’s waist.

“Can you manage the stairs?”

“I t-think so.”

Once they fumbled up to the second floor, two pairs of wet feet no doubt leaving bits of water behind and footprints in the carpeting, Harry let Louis guide him for the most part. They turned to the right and hobbled down the segmented hallway until Louis stopped outside of a closed door. His voice was light but sure.

“In here.”

This room seemed more extravagant than any of the others Harry had seen so far - although it also had a charm of simplicity. A large mattress surrounded by a canopy with a carved headboard was in the center of the room, its head against the wall, forgotten pillows scattered atop it. Deep red curtains framed the sides of the wide windows, but they were open and Harry could see the rain falling. There were several cabinets and an open dresser of various heights organised around the space, one which looked to be scattered with perfume bottles and little trinkets on top, and some kind of unique lighting fixture hanging above their heads that barely begun to awaken with a quiet dim as Louis hit the switch on the wall.

Everything seemed so still, so empty.

A door off to the left was open. Harry let his weight lean against the frame as he looked around but it was almost completely dark.

“Hang on a second,” Louis muttered, letting go and disappearing into the other room. He returned with a tiny box and went to light each of the large off-white candles that encircled the room.

“Still haven’t gotten the electric installed,” he commented to Harry as he set down the box of matches. “Most days I decide against it. Expensive business. I do like it this way.”

Harry smiled.

“Is this yours? Like, your room and everythin’?”

Louis nodded. He set down the box and wiped his hands on his trousers. There was some writing on it that Harry couldn’t read from where he stood. Louis didn’t so much as glance at Harry as he moved to sharply turn the creaking brass knob frozen above until water spilled generously from the pipes. The sound of rushing liquid as it filled the huge porcelain tub, its feet golden, drowned out the loud beating of Harry’s heart in his ears.

He was going to have to take his clothes off.

He shivered.

“Um, right so this is yours. I’ll fetch you a towel and I suppose - well, I suppose you’ll have to wear some things of mine.”

Harry watched him shift about the room. Their eyes met.

“Hm… might be a bit tight,” he said dryly, but with humor, and Louis half-rolled his eyes. Sure, they were built differently and perhaps Louis’ shirts would ride up his stomach some centimeters. Time would only tell. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice at the moment anyway - the other being to wander around stark naked.

Louis then gestured for Harry to strip himself of the rain-soaked fabrics that were clinging to his skin, and beginning to feel very uncomfortable with every second that past, and settle into the slightly steaming water.

“Go,” it looked like Louis whispered, his lips formed into an ‘O’ shape and cheeks tinged with pink. He stared at Harry for another moment, then turned away and left.

Harry carefully lowered his body into the water for what was probably only ten or fifteen minutes, but felt like an hour or more. His hair was stuck to his face, but in a better way now, his temperature evened out once again. His back felt significantly better. He closed his eyes and slid further in, letting himself take deep breaths before it was bound to be over.

When there was a quiet knock on the door, he opened his eyes and tilted his head lazily towards the sound.

Louis looked freshly bathed as well, hair with rough comb lines in it and tucked behind his ears ever so slightly. He was wearing a brand new shirt, rolled to the elbows and tied at the chest. His trousers looked like some kind of evening wear, not the type for party, but for being home. Soft and slightly loose. His feet were bare. In his arms he carried a folded towel, a hairbrush, and what Harry knew to be a few items of clothing that he thought might work for Harry’s size.

“You bathed,” Harry commented as Louis stepped inside to set everything down on a nearby chair.

“I did. In one of the guest rooms.”

“Oh.” He sat up and tried to hide a slight disappointment. The words pushed themselves out of his mouth of coarse charcoal and he couldn’t stop them. “Why not with me?”

Louis was lost in thought, biting at his lip for a moment.

“This one is bigger,” he answered matter of factly, “but even then, I don’t think we both would’ve fit.”

Harry’s eyes flickered to the open door then back at Louis. His arm draped along the ridge of the tub and he let his fingers drip water and dance against it. He considered this.

“What about your bed?” he teased. “Would that suffice?”

_Would it fit the two of us together?_

Louis shook his head, hiding a smile.

“Get dressed. I’ll make some tea.”

“Fine,” Harry said. “But can I kiss you again after that?”

“Perhaps.”

Louis’ eyes twinkled.

Harry was silent. Louis left him alone.

“What does that mean?” he called out a moment later, slightly annoyed, and slightly aroused to be honest with himself, but there was no answer except for a light, friendly laughter as Louis headed out of his room to the stairs and down to the kitchen.

Harry dried himself off as quickly as possible, willing himself not to think too much, then let the water out of the tub by pulling the rubber plug, and stuffed himself into Louis’ clothes. He chased after Louis.

They eventually settled on taking up space in front of a parlor fireplace. Louis reached into it with a dark iron and poked at the burning wood. Satisfied with its growing embers, he set it aside and turned back to Harry, who was sitting on the small reclining couch that conveniently had enough space for two people, legs folded and feet tucked beneath him. Harry tossed his head back to gulp down the tea leaves, after the liquid had dulled down to nothing but a dim warmth. Louis came over and sat down beside him. He didn’t touch the tea cup on the side table, except for the first few sips he took, and sighed. Instead he leaned against the back of the couch and rest an arm across its spine.

Harry turned to look him.

“Why do you live alone?”

“I, well,” Louis rubbed his forehead, “I decided to give the house staff a couple of month’s wages and send them away to see their families, you know, or go on a holiday.”

Harry’s brow furrowed.

“You did?”

Louis nodded.

“It felt like the right thing to do. Most of them knew my grandfather.”

Harry bit his lip.

“So, you have no companions then?”

It took Louis a moment to consider the way that Harry phrased his question, his brow crunching up in thought, and his nose wrinkling, until he laughed softly and shook his head.

“What sort of companions were you supposing me to have?”

Harry shrugged, blushing immediately.

“I dunno. Just… anyone.”

A moment passed, the embers crackling in front of them below the mirror on the wall.

“Well,” Louis murmured back, his hand on Harry’s knee, “you’re here now. Aren’t you?”

Harry nodded without a word and Louis simply held him close, Harry curling up comfortably against his body and his chest as the bright fire burned on into dust.

They talked for awhile about the benefits of such solid peace and quiet, Louis letting his fingertips dance with the curled ends of Harry’s growing hair, about the unknown future, and about how naturally comfortable Harry found himself to be resting there. He thought silently in his own mind that there was something behind and in between Louis’ ribs after all, a heart both strong and resilient; this much Harry finally knew for certain.

***

 **Mistmoore Estate** **  
****Holmes Chapel, England  
****September 1882**

The days that followed the night Harry stayed at Louis’ estate for more than dusk to dawn were full of youthful bliss. Louis sent him letters, double or even triple-sided it seemed, all overflowing with stories, odd jokes, and random bits of sentiment - how he couldn’t wait to see Harry again, how he dreamt of him and his dastardly curls at night.

Even Mabel noticed a change in Harry’s general disposition, begging him more and more to play games with her and stamping her little feet when Harry - lost in daydreams of his own - would miss his cue or somehow break the rules she set forth. She opened his mouth with her small hands, peeked into his ears, tugged at his hair and yet could not find a single visible issue with him. It made him laugh quite a lot.

Harry got to his feet one afternoon when he saw a carriage coming up the path and, running through the grass, cupped the space above his eyes in the bright sun to see who it was. Louis waved once he disembarked, his smile like a star, so big it could easily be seen from far away.

Harry didn’t hesitate, jogging the rest of the way over and pulling Louis into a tight hug. They’d become such good friends too that it was almost unreal, unbelievable, their budding affections with complicated layers filling blank pages in a book. Louis hugged him back, arms tight, whispering a greeting in his ear. He also told Harry he looked beautiful.

Harry blushed.

They dared not to exchange a full kiss in broad daylight, but Harry could have sworn his face was burning after Louis pressed his cheek tightly against Harry’s. Heat lingered in the air around them, so they disappeared together into the house.

Gemma came running over, looking rather excited, and informed them that Lady Charlotte Stewart and her eldest daughter, Marie, were hosting a grand end-of-summer ball. It would start in the early evening and run late into the night. A last chance for many things before new beginnings. Whisperings had just barely begun through town about it. Gemma explained that she first came to know of it from a friend and many in and near town would receive a formal invitation in the post soon, with the exact date and so forth. She also overheard while shopping later on for long, beautiful ribbons with Marie’s cousin Agnes that Louis was, indeed, on the guest list.

\---

Harry sat on the edge of his bed.

“Do you think you’ll go?” he asked Louis.

“I don’t see why not. Besides, you’ll be there.”

Louis sat down next to him. His face was lined with enough stubble that Harry could run his fingers over it and feel an unusual harshness. It aged him past his twenty six years. He wondered if something was bothering Louis lately, although he had not spoken of anything in particular.

“Hopefully we’ll find somewhere to dance,” Harry said.

Louis was silent, scanning the lines of Harry’s face before he gasped dramatically, jumping up.

“You mean to say,  you’re not going to pull me close - waltz with me and then kiss me? In front of all of known society? I’m ruined.”

Harry laughed, but part of it felt too raw to be joking about.

“I’m serious.”

He looked up at Louis, tilting his head. He thought about how it would feel to literally be swept off his own feet and get lost in the rhythm of whatever music played with beautiful perfection in the background. How different it would be to every other sight there. How lonely it would be, and yet not, at the same time.

“I,” Harry admitted, shoulders slouched, “want to dance with you.”

“We can dance here, as much as you'd like,” Louis said right away, extending his hand and lowering himself into a proper bow. “I can’t promise what that night will hold.”

Harry didn’t touch him at first. He sighed.

“It’s not the same.”

But then, as he looked into the waiting blue, something inside Harry clicked into place and he was once again reminded of how cruel time was disappearing so quickly and here, here he had a beautiful man with a devastatingly lovely smile upon his lips in front of him.

Oh, how he wanted it all. Everything. With Louis. So Harry got up and took Louis’ hand. They stood close, just by the bottom of the bed, more leaning against each other and swaying back and forth with a bit of rhythm than anything else, not speaking. They laughed, finally, and when it was over, they kissed.

\---

Harry wanted to see Louis before he left the estate, but it didn’t make much sense logistically. He also needed enough time alone to get dressed and look sharp. Louis would simply have to meet them there. Anne, Mabel, and Gemma all exhibited the same sense of excitement. It wasn’t unusual for there to be a grand soiree such as the one they were about to attend, this time the third week of September. But it was so rare, and the weather so perfect, that anticipating energy vibrated in the air.

Standing in the mirror, Harry twisted his body from left to right and tried to view himself from enough angles whilst not ripping his trousers at the seams. His shoes were shining, reflecting the concentrated light of the room. Just an hour ago one of the maids helped him dig out each piece of clothing he needed for tonight, including floral trousers from a stout dresser that he barely touched.

They’d been a gift of an acquaintance he knew a long time ago, who happened to be extremely artistic and brilliant with creating new kinds of clothes. There were swirls of faint purples and reds, with patterned embroidery down the side of each leg that one had to look especially closely to notice. It felt so him and yet, it had been awhile since he looked at it. He pinned them to a pair of simple bracers. Underneath the straps, he wore his usual white long sleeved shirt. On top of everything thus far, a thin double-breasted waistcoat - the black trims and buttons in sharp contrast. The crowning piece was a less patterned but similarly colored dress coat with no tails. It was soft and of a sturdy fabric.

Harry folded a handkerchief neatly and tucked it into one of his inner pockets. Then he quickly fastened a medium sized silk bow around his neck for a dash of drama, before exhaling, finally satisfied that the look was complete. His hair was as tame as could be, the recent growth tucked by his ears.

For now.

Harry was so busy thinking about what Louis looked like in his dress clothes as they departed from Mistmoore and its visage grew smaller in the back window of the carriage that it wasn’t until nearly halfway through their jostling journey to Lady Stewart’s estate that he realised he’d forgotten to bring a top hat. Mabel held his hand as the carriage bumped along the dirt road. His younger sister didn’t usually attend these particular events, still too young to fully understand them. However, since his mother was joining them that evening, she would be under a very watchful eye.

It was good, Harry thought, for Mabel to see different things once in awhile. Her outfit matched Anne’s.

Gemma kept fussing with the feathers in her hair, all done up atop her head with curled blonde hair. She eventually sighed quietly and let her hands fall into her lap, looking out the window at the blur passing by. Harry watched her for a moment, eyes narrowing, wondering if there was anything to explain the slight paleness of her cheeks and the way her eyes were scanning around.

“Nearly there,” she said to everyone.

Mabel let go of Harry’s hand and clapped. He felt the same way.

\---

 **Lady Stewart’s Estate  
** **Holmes Chapel, England  
** **September 1882**

Louis was late to arrive. What reason exactly that was, Harry didn’t know yet. He felt himself starting to worry that something terrible, even minorly so, had happened. That maybe he wasn’t coming after all. But as Harry stood alone on the front porch by the main path where any straggling carriages would appear, his breath trailed into the chilly air and relief flushed through his body when one did indeed. He could see Louis’ unforgettable profile through the little glass window.

Louis thanked the driver and they stepped away from the carriage. It rolled over the stones and disappeared to the waiting area along with many others. A man stood at the doorway, his expression unchanged. A cluster of other guests were standing further down.

They spoke in low tones that Harry couldn’t really hear.

He turned to Louis.

“I’m sorry. I had to take care of something urgent.” Louis paused, taking in the look on Harry’s face. “Did you think I wasn’t coming?”

“Yes, for a moment,” Harry said back, sticking out his tongue. “Glad you made it though.”

Louis was wearing something of a champagne pink jacket with a tail over an impeccable double-white waistcoat, with gray pin-striped trousers. His hair wasn’t stiffly oiled down as Harry expected, but lightly combed and let loose, arched above his head. At his neck was a small bowtie, a richer shade of the same color as his top.

He reached up to brush bits of hair into position, maybe more out of nerves than anything. Together they were a sight.

“You look amazing,” Harry whispered, leaning slightly closer.

“As do you. Divine. I could eat you whole.”

Harry gasped at Louis’ words, but let his mouth press into a tickled smile as they both nodded innocently towards the greeter and stepped through the arched doorway into the massive house.

Violin music overwhelmed Harry immediately, from the main hall where the guests lingered, the notes of live performance resounding way up high into the corners of the elegant ceiling. It was a rather full party. People swirled around in the center of the space, colorful gowns of rouge and cream and perfectly tailored suits merging into an enchanting blur. Laughter and quiet, social conversations could also be heard. On the opposite side of the room sat a long table that displayed slim drinks and other complimentary refreshments.

Harry wanted a drink already.

A strong one.

Louis pressed a careful hand to Harry’s back, guiding him through to an open space and into one corner off to the side so they could see everything. He scanned the crowd to see who else was in attendance. Louis pointed out Zayn to Harry with one hand, but Niall was nowhere to be found. Harry noticed some of Gemma’s friends and the elderly woman with a near pocket-sized dog in her lap that lived down the road from Mistmoore, the closest person they had to a neighbor.

“Your family’s here as well?” Louis asked.

Harry nodded to confirm, pointing them out. He noticed then a tall, unfamiliar figure standing next to Gemma. Standing incredibly close, in fact. He frowned. Gemma had not mentioned any men in her life, in fact, just by racking his brain for answers, she had been rather secretive about herself the last few months.

Barely a peep. It seemed like always gossip about someone else, or the attention was turned on him. He couldn’t ignore the worry any longer. Louis must have noticed his confused and slightly soured expression, for he laughed softly and bumped Harry’s shoulder.

“Let’s say hello.”

“Okay.”

He followed as they split the crowd that was off to the side chattering amongst themselves and nursing glasses with different levels of drink. Harry’s mouth curved at the lips and he made sure to lower his head politely at a couple of people that recognised him and excuse himself for pushing past them.

Gemma reached her hand out upon seeing them emerge from the partygoers, pulling him over.

“Harry, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she said, leaning into him, “This is Beau Percy.”

He looked up see the face of the tall man. He was… well, very handsome if Harry should think such a thing. His angled nose and round cheekbones were the perfect frames for his amiable face. His eyes were some mix of green and hazel, lined with dark eyelashes. Beau offered a smile and a handshake right away, moving his drink to his other hand.

“Fancy meeting you. I’ve heard stories.”

“Only good ones, I hope,” Harry said, as he shook Beau’s hand. “Uh, I’m sorry, but who are you?”  
  
There was a laugh beside him. Nice to know someone found this amusing. He didn’t. So he elbowed Louis slightly, brushing it off as a leaning change of posture, as he smiled, teeth showing, looking from Gemma to Beau.  
  
“Someone very fond of your sister,” Beau said quietly. “She’s brilliant.”

He smiled at Gemma with a clear, love stricken twinkle in his eyes, before looking back at Harry. There was so much that Harry didn’t know about their relationship, the fact that he even existed for Christ’s sake, that it was a complete blindspot to him.

Harry had always trusted Gemma with his innermost secrets growing up and now, standing there with [_Tempo di Valse_ from Dvorak’s _Serenade for Strings_ , Op. 22 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CXl91_eCsg) ringing in his ears from the orchestra in the background, he couldn’t help but feel slighted. He coughed.

“Really?” Harry said,  exaggerating his expression and voice. “She hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

“Harry,” Louis interrupted then. He turned to Louis to see a mixed expression and a slight shake of the head. Fine. Maybe his comment a moment ago was rude and undue. Harry would simply have to speak with his sister later on in the evening and try to sort out the truth.

He cleared his throat quietly.

“Well.”

He was attempting sincerity now, thinking about how dry his mouth felt and how he had yet to say much of anything to Louis whom he had been so looking forward to seeing. It wasn’t worth embarrassing himself or his elder sister any further, certainly not without all the facts.

“Thank you for keeping her company, Mr. Percy,” Harry said. “I hope you enjoy yourselves tonight.”

Gemma looked slightly surprised at his response to the whole meeting. She stared at Harry then pointedly looped her gloved hand with Beau’s so that they were interlinked by arm and lifted her chin, dismissing his apparent attitude.

“We will.”

No one said anything about Louis.

Harry was thankful Beau seemed a little obvlious to the tension and said thank you with another smile, before setting his glass down on a moving tray and turning to Gemma. He bowed deeply and invited her to a dance in front of them. She accepted without looking back at Harry or Louis. They disappeared into the crowd, her feathers bouncing. He turned away and found Louis standing there with his arms crossed.

“Bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“I-” Harry paused, trying to think right for a moment. “I just want her to be safe. That’s all.”

Louis sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides.

“I know. But for right now, you need to let her go. She’s fine. Say, want a drink? I wonder if there’s anything stronger than champagne around, although judging by the look of this place- “

Louis’ high and melodic voice trailed off in Harry’s ears like he was sinking underwater and for a moment, Harry didn’t catch a single thing he was saying to him. But he was right, of course. They weren’t kids chasing butterflies and daffodils anymore, surely, and no matter how hard he tried there were some things in life Harry couldn't, or didn’t need to, protect his family from.

Louis started forward and left Harry standing in the crowd, looking around, seeing Mabel and Anne off on the other side of the room having a good time and Gemma, lost in laughter and Beau’s embrace, dancing freely. He set his shoulders, tucked on his ensemble, and made up his mind to enjoy the rest of the night.

For himself.

For his sanity.

After nearly two full glasses of madeira, Harry couldn’t keep the nagging itch off his skin. It trailed itself all over, down the back of his neck and into his hands, even dancing against his ribs. He wanted to kiss Louis, so much, everywhere on his body that he could manage to think of, and he couldn’t wait any longer to touch him.

He leaned against him, probably more than was proper with everyone just around, and whispered into his ear that they should go outside.

Louis nodded. This time, Harry led the way.

They walked together through the open doors at the back of the house, crossing the balcony patio and descending the gray cement steps, their footsteps echoing from their polished shoes, and into the garden. Harry looked around to see only a figure or two in the distance - maybe shadows or statues frozen in time - then down at their swinging hands once they were far enough along the path. He let his fingers lightly brush against Louis’ fingers as they walked before Louis finally pressed his entire palm against Harry’s hand and caught it.

The air in the sky was wonderful, cool, and even bright stars could be seen in the cloudless night for they were that far out in the countryside. Harry tilted his head back to observe their pattern as he walked, a weight lifting itself off his chest, until he stumbled forward and like always, like forever, Louis was there to catch him. Louis pulled Harry onto the slippery grass, their hands still together in between them, and behind what looked like from blurred vision an old oak tree with thick roots spread from its base and into the earth, wide branches covered in leaves above their heads like arms.

No one would see them here. Not a soul.

“Hi,” Harry whispered.

He looked down at his clumsy feet, cheeks flushed, hands shaking a little, and stepped closer until his body was pressed so tightly against Louis’ he could feel actual warmth. Together they were cradled by years of nature.

“Hi to you too,” Louis replied, before lifting a hand to caress Harry’s cheek with his thumb. Their eyes locked then, Louis’ gaze glassy and content from the amount of fortified wine shared between them earlier, but also beautiful like the ocean Harry remembered from his childhood.

Harry couldn’t even manage a smile, swallowing once, although he knew that there was something genuine painting itself across his face.

He leaned closer, lips parted and desperate. Louis smelled faintly of soft perfume and natural sweat. His skin was all shaved and clean. He gripped Harry’s arm, nails digging into Harry’s sleeve that was heavy enough of a material he could only feel the distant echoes of the pressure.

Still, he knew the gesture was there and it gave him comfort unlike any other.

Louis moved his mouth to meet Harry’s and kissed him softly.

Then again.

Then a bit harder, more fluidly until a certain confidence was ripe in the chilly air. Harry hummed, wanting to introduce his tongue into Louis’ mouth but Louis was kissing him so quickly, their heads moving in sync, breaking apart for little pockets of air he almost couldn’t manage it. A spark ignited itself in his throat and trickled down through the nerves of his arms and all through his body until it seeped into the ground and threatened to attach Harry to the earth as if a tree himself.

It was then that he heard a voice nearby.

“Harry?”

Louis pulled away, Harry following, pink lips wet in the moonlight.

“Are you out here, darling?”

The voice sounded familiar. He looked at Louis who shrugged slightly, then turned and dared to peek past the harsh bark to see who it was calling out to Harry without revealing their location.

“It’s Anne,” Louis whispered. “She’s alone.”

“You promised you’d dance with Lord Johansson's daughters. They’re waiting for you inside!”

It didn’t sound like she knew for certain where Harry was, let alone that he was standing behind a monstrous oak tree snogging a beautiful man instead of socialising with the guests inside the mansion, but he stepped back anyway. Harry would never keep his own mother waiting, never blatantly want to seem unkind to others either, like Lord Johannsson and his large family, who spoke well of him often.

He simply wanted to be free.

“I-I must go,” Harry resigned to Louis quietly. He kissed his cheek.

“Wait. I have something for you.” Harry shifted his weight, watching as Louis reached into his breast pocket and retrieved two single-cut flowers, presenting them in the dim light.

They sometimes lasted well into the beginning of fall, that much he knew, but Harry had never seen any in his life so plump and defined, their petals an infinite maze of meaning and beauty, their green rich and lovely. It was a rare occurrence. He reached out to twirl one of them lightly in Louis’ hand.

“Green carnations.” Harry’s mouth dropped open in awe. “H-how did you find these?”

Louis pointed out into the garden with the other arm.

“Over there. Two of the last ones blooming.”

“They’re absolutely wonderful.”

Louis closed his hand carefully, just enough to carry them protectively whilst he reached into his other pockets and dug around for a small metal pin that looked meant for tailoring clothes. He let one of the flowers rest inside the front of his coat, its full head hanging against the side of the pocket and spilling over.

With the other, Louis held it up to the light as he inserted the open pin through the thin stem.

“I thought of you when I saw them,” Louis explained, as he moved Harry’s coat to expose the space underneath next to his bow and his waistcoat. Harry held his breath as Louis’ fingers worked to quickly pin the carnation to his breast, before carefully putting the outer layer over it. “You, and I.”

It disappeared and Harry felt disappointed for the right reasons. He could hear the sound of footsteps receding.

“Thank you,” Harry mouthed.

“Meet me by the carriages after,” Louis whispered.

Louis kissed him on the mouth again, before letting go and pressing his hands against the rough tree as if he had to resist doing anything else with no time left between them. Harry backed up, not looking away, nothing but a gentle smile on his face.

Louis had a sideways grin and it was like seeing the sun in the middle of the night. He gestured for Harry to go. So Harry did, stumbling out from behind the tree after catching another root with his foot. He heard muffled laughter. His mother was indeed up ahead, although now out of earshot, her extravagant tulle dress fluttering in the wind, and he began to jog down the path to catch up with her until he realised he might be damaging the flower behind his coat.

He peeked at it with a smile to himself before he got right next to her.

“Oh, love,” Anne said, a bit startled, “There you are.”

“Yes - I was having a close look at the garden.”

“By yourself?”

Silence followed. Harry didn’t know what to say, and he especially didn’t want to lie, so he didn’t say anything at all, simply nodding and following his mother back up the same steps and into the big hall to fulfill his promise. He wiped his mouth quickly. There was a guilty twinge inside his chest at the idea of Louis, left alone in the dark, standing behind the tree.

But Louis had a matching flower near his heart and that, that thought alone was enough to propel Harry through four different dances, including two unexpected waltzes.

Upon taking his final bow, sweat beading across his forehead, Harry almost started running back to him, but he reminded himself it wasn’t the place, albeit it felt like the time. His heart was thumping inside his chest. Louis was waiting at the end of the gravel path, a nondescript black carriage in front of him. Harry fixed his hair and approached him, noticing his face change upon knowing that Harry had in fact returned.

“How was it?”

“Lovely. They’re a good family.”

“Hm.” Louis was biting his bottom lip.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked then, stepping forward. He waited for Louis to spit out whatever it is he was holding back, hands twisted together.

“Yes. I’m just leaving now and,” Louis said, reaching to open the carriage door. He looked up again. “I want to know if you’d like to come with me.”

Harry nodded.

“I do, I want - I- ” he choked on his words.

It made Louis laugh, endeared.

“In that case,” Louis continued as he put one foot on the step, the bottom of his shoe scraping lightly against the wood, “you should probably bid your family a good night then.”

“I already did.” Harry smiled sheepishly. “Said I was going to visit a friend.”

Louis’ eyes narrowed a little.

“You’re quite eager.”

“Aren’t you?” Harry threw back to him, once they were both inside.

Louis didn’t say anything just yet. They sat opposite one another, faces facing each other like some kind of stoic portrait that would never change and never age. Louis leaned out the window and signaled to the driver, who got the horses moving at once. The wheels rolled and cracked over a mosaic of gravel.

He watched as Louis stayed with his cheek pressed close to the edge of the small window and examined the surroundings outside, before sliding it up a little bit. Air still forced itself through the gap. He seemed content now though that they were on the move and getting farther away from prying eyes.

Louis exhaled.

“I wish you didn’t have to do that,” Harry whispered.

Louis stripped himself of his coat silently then offered to take Harry’s too, setting them aside on the seat he was currently using. He shifted then over to Harry’s side, the road bumpy and with a breath steadied himself with a hand on Harry’s leg.

“It is what it is,” Louis finally whispered in return, before sliding a hand around the back of Harry’s neck, thumb barely touching at his lower hairline and looking at him the same way he was earlier.

Harry’s heart jumped at the intimacy of it. He didn’t have time to properly wet his lips before Louis was leaning very close, letting his lips barely brush against Harry’s mouth. It set his skin on fire. Harry tilted his head and decided to kiss him.

This time his tongue slid into Louis’ mouth as they both went forward to each other without hesitation, Louis gripping the hair on the back of his head. Until Louis let go and re-positioned his body in the cramped space, their feet overlapping. He started to leave a trail of kisses against the length of Harry’s jaw and down his neck.

A curious hand wandered over Harry’s chest and his hard stomach that twitched slightly at the touch before coming to rest on his thigh, above his knee.

He moaned quietly, chin up and head pressed back against the carriage wall as Louis worked to suck a mark into the exposed skin above his vest. At the same time, however, Louis rubbed Harry’s thigh with his fingertips. Between his legs Harry felt nothing but desire and tightness as his cock began to press against the fabric of his undergarments with every intoxicating touch.

“Lou,” he whined as Louis’ gentle but spread hand slid further under the curve of Harry’s thigh and pulled. Up and down in a slow, taunting rhythm. “I won’t make it there if- if you keep touching me like that.”

Louis breathed out a contemplative and resigned sigh at Harry’s words and removed his hands from Harry’s body entirely, kissing Harry two more times determinedly at the mouth before sitting back in the corner. They were like magnets, hard to separate.

“You’re gorgeous,” Louis managed as the carriage slowed to make a turn, words a bit mumbled and his accent strong.

Harry winked at him, panting a little.

“That I agree with.”

Louis snorted, letting his eyes shut as if suddenly fatigued, pressing his fingers against his face. His cheeks were visibly pink and his hair was ruffled in multiple spots.

“Vain too, what ever shall I do with you?

Harry tilted his head.

“I don’t know. What _are_ you going to do with me?” he retorted, curious about the true extent of Louis’ sexual nature. Clearly Louis felt able to exhibit some of it even in semi-public, taking command and losing himself within the touches he made against Harry’s skin and clothing.

The wheels slowed in their turning and Louis opened his eyes as they came to stop.

Louis disembarked after the creaky door swung open, then turned back to help Harry down the step, before reaching for their coats and tucking them over one of his arms. The driver said goodnight in a gruff and unsuspecting (if aware, then neutral) voice and Harry assumed he would bring the horses back to the stables and boil some water before bed at the solitary lodging out there. Someone had to stay and tend to the animals, too.

Louis waved his hand but didn’t say anything. It took a moment for him to find the main key when they were finally alone, Harry wrapping his wiggly arms around Louis’ stomach, planting kisses at his ears and the back of his head. It made Louis giggle slightly and shrug him away although it would take a lot more, Harry thought, than that to truly get rid of him. Once inside, the coats went to hangers. Louis turned all of his attention to Harry. He seemed to notice the distance between them, found it utterly dissatisfying, and extended an arm. Harry didn’t hesitate to take the offer and let Louis pull him closer, then into an underarm twirl as if they were dancing, despite that there was no music.

The silence was nearly deafening; in the distance, dogs barked faintly and clocks ticked with responsibility.

“I want to make you happy,” Louis said as he held Harry in his arms. “Tell me how I can.”

Harry thought for a moment, the feelings inside his heart and mind barely coming out in an agreed whisper.

“You already have.”

“You’re insufferable,” Louis breathed back.

This made Harry laugh and he threw his head back to look up at the tall ceiling that, in the moonlight, seemingly had no end to it. He knew what Louis was asking and he wanted it. Wanted it and more. But part of him was scared in the face of something new.

Was that wrong?

He whispered his real answer to Louis, whose arm was tucked around Harry’s low waist.

“Come on then.” Louis let go and simply took one of Harry’s hands, kissing it as he cradled it in both hands, before leading Harry slowly up the grand staircase, down the same hallway as they’d been before, and to Louis’ room where, once inside, Louis shut the door and locked it.

The room was dark except for the bright moon shining in through the window.

Louis disappeared for a moment, towards the bed Harry guessed, as he watched his silhouette pass through the room, and it didn’t take long for Harry to begin undressing himself anyway, pulling the bow apart and letting it fall to the ground, before untying and unbuttoning the rest of his elaborate costume until he was standing there in his trousers.

He shivered.

Then Louis wandered back over, eyes flickering down to the lines of his bare body. His eyelashes looked soft and long. He pulled Harry close with a hungry look barely visible in the grey of everything and kissed him again, at the corners of his mouth first, then straight on, their noses brushing as he did so.

Louis picked Harry up several moments later, mouths clashing with the sudden movement, and Harry happily wrapped his arms around Louis’ neck. His thighs were tight against Louis’ waist.

However, it didn’t last long as Louis waddled over to the high mattress and practically dumped him on the bed, panting something about him being heavier than he fucking looked and Harry burst into honest laughter, full and true from the back of his lungs.

He waited as it subsided, eyes heavy and partially lidded, watching as Louis straightened up and stood at the foot of the bed. He stared back at Harry with every new motion, chest heaving slightly, as he undid his own bowtie before unbuttoning his long-sleeved shirt, slipping out of both like sudden rainfall.

Harry could see his delicate nipples, hard against the air.

He sat up, intrigued and impolite and driven by the alcohol that was still in his veins, climbing over to the edge of the bed. He let his eyes freely take in the bulge beneath Louis’ trousers that was nearly at eye level now. Slowly he ran his hands up Louis’ fit body. Over the curves of his stomach, the pale, golden skin slightly thin and muscular, past his chest and across his collarbone.

With both hands, Harry finally cupped the warm back of Louis’ neck and pulled him downward for more kissing and more closeness of skin, pressing and licking into his mouth eagerly now. Louis moved to slot himself between Harry’s legs, a single hand waiting at the hem of the fabric.

Their hands tangled together as they broke apart slightly, Harry undoing the zipper of his trousers as easily as possible and shifting his body in order to slide them all the way off. He winced slightly, face scrunching for a second, as it brushed past his hard cock. He could see himself now, how hard and raw he looked, cock pressed up towards his hips.

Louis was sitting beside him, watching, and he swallowed at the sight. Harry looked up, his face not far from Louis’ and tried to gauge his reaction.

“Good?” he whispered.

Louis nodded.

“Bigger. Better.”

Harry swatted his arm and smiled, before whispering that it was Louis’ turn to shed the last of his clothing and together they reached for the ties that held Louis’ trousers together. Bits of skin revealed themselves the longer they worked, Louis’ breath elevated against Harry’s ear.

He was definitely hard too, Harry could see, as Louis managed to get his legs out of the fabric and pushed the gray trousers onto the floor. Harry wanted to put his mouth on it, just like he imagined the morning they woke up by the fireplace together, the last embers of the fire sizzling out and Louis’ body unexpectedly digging into Harry’s thigh.

But Louis kissed Harry again, lowering himself on top of him, so that their legs were intertwined like waves. Harry’s skin was sensitive as Louis brushed against it upon leaning forward.

“I’ll need to use my fingers,” Louis murmured, referring to what Harry had asked for and whispered into Louis’ ear earlier in the foyer. “Before.”

Harry hesitated however, pulling away, a sudden knot in his throat.

“Have you done it? Like this?”

Harry didn’t know exactly how to answer for a moment.

“A couple of times. It wasn’t very good.”

“It’s alright. I’m nervous too, if you can believe it. Look, my hand is shaking,” he whispered against Harry’s temple, caressing his head with one hand.

"We don’t have to if -”

Harry shook his head, taking a breath.

“No, I want to. I need to be with you.”

Louis looked down again to meet Harry’s gaze and touch his plump lips with his first two fingers. He smiled at Harry, who felt a sense of relief washing through his body.

_This wasn’t a random stranger off the street._

_It was Louis._

“You tell me the moment something bothers you,” Louis promised, “And I’ll do the same.”

This put Harry at complete ease again, nodding, and lifting his mouth to meet Louis’. The tension in his lower body was building as Louis kissed down the other side of his neck and sucked loudly into the skin, Harry bucking his hips slightly, desperate for a bit of friction. He exhaled when he felt it.

Louis then pulled away and asked him to keep his legs apart, sliding a thin pillow from the other side of the bed underneath him to get a slightly better angle. He nodded towards the drawer beside the bed, wondering aloud if Harry had anything that would make it easier for him to do this.

“Y-yes, in the second drawer.”

Once Louis coated his fingers well, he scooted himself down the bed slightly, sitting essentially in front of Harry with his legs poised off the side for a moment, his cock wet and thick but ignored. He focused on making sure Harry’s thighs were apart enough and sliding one hand down Harry’s body until he found the right spot.

Harry let out sharp breaths when Louis teased several times at his hole before he entered him.

“Just breathe, love,” he said, carefully and slowly inserting one finger.

He pressed it in and out until it felt more comfortable and went through a process of pausing briefly in increments to ask Harry if he was feeling okay and wanted to continue, in order to introduce enough fingers.

As soon as Louis was able to slip three fingers in and out with little issue, Harry whining audibly and wrestling to keep still against the sheets, he murmured for Harry to turn over.

Harry could hear the faint sound of Louis wrapping his hand around his own neglected cock, turning his head, although it was slightly uncomfortable to do so, to watch behind him. Louis’ mouth fell open while he jerked himself a bit in preparation and cursed up at the ceiling. Harry bit his lip.

"I-I can’t hold off any longer,” Louis rambled. “Relax for me, Harry, alright?”

He nodded and looked forward, his view being one side of a thick pillow that his face was pressed against. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, willing himself to relax his muscles, even in his legs, so that Louis could finally, after all this time, fuck him properly.

The thought rushed blood to his cheeks and he begged Louis to get inside him. Even so, Harry let out a breathless gasp. It took Louis a minute to adjust his body and slowly push himself further into Harry. His fist curled against the surface of the pillow at the pressure, pulling against the cover. But it was a good kind of pressure, steady and titillating.

“‘s good,” Harry mumbled before Louis had a chance to ask. “More.”

And more he was surely given. Their uneven breaths eventually mixed and changed into louder moans as Louis managed to find a decent rhythm, thrusting deeper into Harry than he had up to that point.

“Fuck,” Louis said, hips moving with desire, his thighs hot and brushing against the back of Harry’s legs. “Fuck, it feels amazing, still so tight -”

“Yeah?” He groaned back. “Lou... harder. Harder, please.”

The sound of bare skin hitting together was prevalent once Louis continued to move against him like a river and Harry felt breaths against his back and tightened fingers digging into his shoulder as Louis curved his body for a slightly different angle. They were like two streaks on a canvas, in sync and devastatingly flawed.

“Oh, God,” Harry choked out.

They didn’t speak for several extended moments after that.

Harry closed his eyes, his mouth left open with unprecedented pleasure. His lips were coated with his own saliva. His anxious fingers felt tight against the sheets and he let his mind wander through all the moments that Louis had been so close to him, yet so far, the accidental brushing of shoulders and smiling of lips and silent touching of eyes.

There was only one thing now that could be better than any of that which preceded it: the physical, undeniable now, the feeling of one of Louis’ hands gripping tight onto Harry’s hip and the other arm, perhaps switched to reaching over their heads for the wood that lined the bed to remain in some semblance of control, the way that Harry could hear Louis letting out rough moans and Harry felt a tickle at the back of his throat until a breathless laugh bubbled up and escaped.

He felt like a heavy, happy stone against the bed.

“Touch your cock, my love,” Louis finally said, out of breath, pausing for a moment and letting Harry feel the complete fullness of him - if not by chance, then by some kind of mercy - before continuing to make careful thrusts with his strong body.

“I want to hear you.”

Harry nodded and was glad to lift his hips enough, backing slightly up more against Louis’ body than he already was, and reached one arm down between his aching legs. His fingers brushed and fumbled at his leaking tip before he wrapped his hand around himself completely and began to slide up and down. He let out loud content cries the more he moved, knowing there was no one to hear them but Louis and the walls. Everything felt amazing, rough and sweet and all his to have. Louis panted on top of him.

“Oh -”

Louis dug a hand into Harry’s skin and dragged it down in a manner like a cat’s claw; unintentional or not, there was no doubt that it would leave a mark lasting beyond the bright moonlight. In fact, Harry was counting on it.

“I’m almost there,” Harry whined from below, shifting against the bed and feeling something eventual and grand begin to spread through his gut.

His orgasm appeared quickly after, his body almost overstimulated with constant pleasure from both sides. His mind was screaming nothing but Louis’ name. White stars burst out against the back of his eyelids as he moaned sharply and his body jolted and twitched, fresh heat spilling onto his stomach and over his tired fingers.

“Harry -” Louis started to say but got cut off by his own approaching, overwhelming orgasm and with what Harry couldn’t help to think was an incredibly arousing groan, filled Harry with the sudden sensation of molten fire as he came hard inside of him. The moments after felt slow and drawn out. Louis told Harry to stay still for a moment, and he did, as Louis carefully pulled himself out and collapsed beside him.

Harry rolled onto his side and tried to catch his breath. Louis’ gentle eyes were on him, his face turned towards him. He reached out for Louis’ hand. Louis took it and held it against his chest as if it were made of gold. He kissed the back of it three times before asking, “How are you?” in a quiet voice.

“Amazing,” Harry said, “You are incredible.”

He gestured somewhat abashedly to the obvious stickiness still upon his stomach that was beginning to dry and look rather disgusting. Louis kissed his nose and rolled off the other side of the long bed.

“I’ll get you a cloth,” he said, and Harry had no shame in watching Louis’ naked, pert cheeks saunter across the room and disappear. He bit at the inside of his mouth, lost in thought for a minute.

When Louis returned, Harry’s heart skipped a beat and he smiled, laying back against the bed as Louis began to wipe his skin and uncurled hands until everything was gone that either of them could see.

“There.”

Eventually he set it aside and sat next to Harry, half reclined and propping himself up with one bent elbow. Louis brushed the sweaty hair off Harry’s forehead. He looked pleased and calm, in a new way that Harry had never witnessed before.

“Next time, it’s my turn,” Harry declared.

“Oh, is that so?” Louis said, meeting his gaze, and raising his brow.

Harry licked his bottom lip.

“Gonna pull your trousers down,” he started, throat bobbing, tongue brushing against the roof of his mouth, voice in a dry drawl, “So I can taste your pretty arse, then have you against the wall.”

“Sure you can handle all of that at once?” Louis teased. Harry pinched his bicep lightly, which elicited a rather fake cry of pain.

Harry laughed and cleared his throat for the next sentence.

“I believe the real question is, can you?”

His eyebrows were raised but it probably wasn’t very intimidating to be faced with. Still Louis’ mouth fell open, and then closed. He burst into a soft laughter and shook his head.

One of his shoulders went up and down.

"I don’t know, I suppose. Everything seems to be one big surprise with you, Styles. Not to mention spectacular. You’re nothing like what I first imagined of my own accord.”

Harry’s expression must have been confused, and curious, his green eyes wide and staring because Louis sat up and pressed a hand against Harry’s still bare chest.

“No, it’s a positive thing. I promise.”

This was curious to him.

“How did you picture me exactly?” Harry said, rolling onto his stomach before scooting himself close until their legs were entwined again, this time, exhausted and warm. He pressed his head against the pillow for a better position and stared at Louis’ blue eyes.

“Well,” Louis answered, emphasising the taste of the word. “Selfish. Young. Maybe even arrogant, spoiled. Gemma did speak highly of you, but I admit I didn’t believe every one of the stories then. We’d never met."

Harry felt a prickle on the hairs of his neck. He thought that the time after he first moved to Mistmoore, his trips back and forth to London in an attempt to run from the crippling hurt that ran very deep and had a web of its own, might have qualified for those terms. But time had passed. Enough that Harry felt, now lying quietly in bed with someone he cared tremendously about, that things had changed after all. That he could finally fix the last broken pieces of himself. 

“And what do you think of me now,” Harry challenged, “Mr. Tomlinson?”

The lines of Louis’ face softened and he smiled at his own name and the question too, no doubt, hiding a shy expression as he wiggled against the bed and settled his head even closer to Harry’s. Harry could kiss his cute nose if he just leaned forward. Instead Harry stretched out an arm under the wide sheet and pulled it up, the air tickling his skin, covering enough past their waists, before resting his arm across Louis’ curves. His fingertips pressed against Louis’ uncovered back.

“I think you would do anything for your family. You love them, protect them no matter the weather, even when you don't have to at all. You’re smart, like, proper smart and funny, although your particular humor -” Louis paused.

“Hey.”

Harry pouted.

“Your jokes are really terrible, admit it. A vast majority." 

“A slight majority,” he countered.

Louis laughed, conceding with Harry’s judgment of his own humor before continuing to speak. It fell away until he looked somewhat serious again and he turned to face Harry once more.

“You’ve got a beautiful heart of gold and silver, and everything in between. I can feel it.”

Harry didn’t hesitate to supply an equally sentimental answer.

“Which I’m giving to you,” Harry said.

Louis was silent for a moment. He scanned the expression on Harry’s face, the way he was biting his bottom lip and looking up, waiting for an acknowledgment of the important words he’d just spoken.

“I’ve, um,” Harry continued, “never said that to anyone before. But I do mean it.”

Harry smiled gently and it spread to Louis’ face, who nodded wholeheartedly after a moment of contemplation and to process. He leaned into kiss Harry on the lips and for time that neither of them kept track of, they lie there still, hearts beating, their own fire ablaze within the unpredictable storm of the world.

“And I’m giving you mine,” Louis whispered, before eventually suggesting that they both get some rest. It was late. The moonlight had begun to dim, disappearing behind early morning clouds in the sky. Harry had never before in his life been so happy to close his eyes, even his breathing, and trust that he was safe and sound.

\---

When Harry awoke the next morning, he was alone.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around, reaching out an arm but there was nothing but bedding and air. After he sat up and managed to dress himself, in the clothes from the night before as there was no other option until he got home and bathed, he went to open the curtains. It was then, turning around, that he yawned a bit, blinked, and noticed a small white note card propped on the pillow where Louis’ had lain hours ago. He leaned over to pick it up.

The front simply had one letter on it: _“H.”_

Inside, it read in full cursive script:

_“Every night I fall more in love with you. Every day, I miss you._

_L.”_

Beneath the note was a single, green carnation. The very same one, he supposed, that Louis had give him the night before, its petals still intact although when he squinted at the stem in the morning light, Harry wondered how much color had been lost to the night air.

Harry descended the stairs, the note and flower subsequently tucked into one of his pockets so that he wouldn’t forget them when he left, and looked around for any signs of life. He heard a clatter in one of the rooms and went to investigate the sound, whether it was Louis or not. He let himself stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame, as he watched Louis sit at the table by himself and pour a cup of tea. There wasn’t much of a spread in front of him, just a pile of newspapers and what looked like some biscuits.

That couldn’t be all he had. Was it?

Louis noticed Harry standing there and stood up suddenly. Harry laughed and waved a hand, moving to go around the table to reach him.

“You’re up,” Louis stuttered.

“Yes. I found your note.”

Harry had a sudden interest in flour and sugar, as he caressed Louis’ face with two hands and pulled him into a kiss across the top of the chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. He let go and could hear Louis sigh.

“I’m glad. I - wasn’t sure if it was okay.”

“Sure it was. I’m taking it home with me.”

“Ah, um, are you set to go? Don’t let me forget your coat by the door. The carriage is ready.” He adjusted the triangular corner of the open newspaper against the table almost as if Harry had interrupted his breakfast and he was interested in getting back to it.

Harry stepped around the chair. He couldn’t leave Louis just yet.

“What’re you eating?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek then across his jaw. Louis closed his eyes and hummed against Harry’s touch, bringing a hand up to rest against his back.

“I’m not sure, actually. I couldn’t find much.”

Harry stopped kissing him.

“Come with me. Come on, we have everything at home. You must be mad if you think I’m letting you stay here and eat crumbs.”

“But -”

“Louis, for God’s sake, you have no staff.”

“I can manage.”

“You don’t have to. Besides, I think,” Harry’s eyes searched the gentleness of blue before he spoke the next few words, “it’s time to tell my family about us.”

Louis coughed a little, pressing a hand to his chest.

“You’re serious?”

Harry nodded.

“I am. I need to make things right with Gemma and truly, how can I expect her to be honest with me if I’m not willing to do the same? And I - just, I’m tired of living in the shadows when they’re around.”

Louis rubbed Harry’s arm through the fabric, lost in thought for several passing moments.

“Alright. I agree.”

“Yeah? They love you already. There’s nothing to worry about.”

One of Louis’ eyes narrowed in what looked like a wink except it wasn’t, his face a bit cautiously scrunched instead as if they were about to jump off of a mountain with a single parachute. “It’s not really your family I was ever worried about.”

“Well,” Harry said, “we’ll talk about it.”

Louis nodded and kissed Harry’s cheek.

“Then let’s go."

\---

Mabel came running from the breakfast room and attacked Harry on sight with two little arms, wrapping them around his neck. It almost brought him to tears, the innocent and sincere sound of her voice, as he tightened his arms around her in return and held her close whilst on his knees against the cold tile.

“I missed you, Mabe."

“Me too.”

Before Harry moved to let go, Mabel was already staring up at Louis, who was standing beside Harry. She tilted her head but didn’t say anything if something particular crossed her mind. She held a nervous finger at her mouth, looking back at Harry.

“Hey. You remember Louis, right?”

She nodded.

“He brought us the flowers.”

“Sunflowers!” Mabel echoed and grabbed Louis at the leg for a hug, too. Louis laughed and said hello to her. After they broke away, she asked Harry why he was wearing his party clothes from last night. Harry’s cheeks turned a shade of red right there in the foyer and he quickly distracted her by asking if Mum and Gemma were still having breakfast too. She led them into the room, pulling Harry by the hand.

“Morning,” Harry said, trying his best to pretend as if nothing was happening even though his heart rate just shot through the ceiling at the sight of his mother looking at them over her reading glasses. Her lips were pursed. She then noticed Louis standing awkwardly enough and he bowed his head.

“Good morning, boys. Please do sit with us,” she offered, gesturing across the table. There was certainly enough room. Louis politely asked the butler for a coffee when prompted.

It was some moments later as Harry was distracting himself by dipping a knife into a mound of perfectly sliced butter that Louis elbowed him lightly in the side and he proceeded to drop the knife, hands shaking, now drawing all of the attention in the small room to them as it clattered against the china. He apologised and set it aside.

“You look like you have something to say, Louis,” Anne noted.

“I do. We do, actually,” Louis said calmly, looking to Harry. He gave him an encouraging smile, reminding him that it was his family they were sitting in front of, whose curious stares bore into their heads, and it was probably the right thing that the news came directly from him.

Especially in the sense that Harry would likely feel bravery within doing so.

“Louis and I are -” Harry started. The words got stuck in his throat. He turned to Louis, laughed slightly, and shook his head that he was having a bit of trouble about it. 

“Together,” Louis finished carefully. “We thought it best to let you know.”

It was silent for a second.

“I knew it!” Gemma shouted, launching a muffin across the table by accident. It stopped in the middle, run out of energy. She stood up and pointed at them. “I knew it! Oh, by God, I can’t believe I was right again.”

Harry grinned shyly, before daring to finally look across the polished wood and display of food at his mum. Anne seemed to be watching them, but not too closely as he expected. Then she smiled, her mouth curving in a knowing expression. Her eyes might have twinkled even.

“Mum? You knew about it, too?” Harry balked.

Anne pushed her glasses up her nose.

“I had a strong feeling, yes. The way you look at each other…it’s not every day that you find that, is it?”

“No,” Louis confirmed next to Harry, squeezing his thigh under the table. “I’m extremely lucky, indeed. Your son is the best man I’ve ever known.”

Gemma looked tearful, but Harry turned to glance at Mabel, for the last of the reactions.

“Are you getting married?” Mabel asked without hesitancy.

Harry swallowed and tried to smile at her despite the fact that he knew, in his entire lifetime, in all of their lifetimes together, they would never see such a thing put into formal law.

Perhaps in his dreams he could marry Louis.

“No. We’re not getting married. But we care about each other very much.”

Mabel smiled. She shifted in her chair and looked to Louis.

“Don’t break him! He’s my brother.”

Everyone laughed at her wording, knowing that she meant something along the lines of “Don’t break Harry’s heart” instead and Louis pressed a hand to his chest.

“I know that and I won’t. Promise.”

“Good.”

Suddenly Gemma rose out of her chair, covering what sounded like a sob with one hand and hurried out of the room. Harry deflated instantly like an old balloon, his heart sinking to his stomach and sputtering out of air. He looked around from Louis to Mabel to Anne. No one got up right away, but all seemed to have the same concerned expression. The butler offered a hand. Harry stood up, confused.

“It’s alright. I’ll go.”

His sister was just in the room adjacent, pacing back and forth a little, tears upon her cheeks. She blew her nose loudly upon seeing Harry enter the room and shut the thin door behind them.

“Gem? What’s the matter? Is it something we said -”

“No. Not at all.”

Harry frowned.

“Are you ill? Should we ring for the doctor?”

Gemma lifted her head at that word. Her lip was quivering a bit and there was a crease visible in her forehead. She managed a smile and steadied herself with careful breaths. In her hands was a crumpled handkerchief with an embroidered letter, but Harry could not see exactly which one it was.

“I… I haven’t been entirely honest, either,” she said.

“About what?”

She didn’t answer until Harry stepped closer.

“I’m pregnant.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m pregnant,” Gemma repeated quietly, “We found out two weeks ago.”

“You’re - but who -” Harry said, pressing a hand to his forehead in thought until the flashes from last night prior to their indulgent drinking when he’d met a particular man who looked particularly cosy with his sister. How happy she’d looked as he led her across the dance floor.

Like they were meant to be together.

“Oh.”

“He wants to marry me and be with me through the entire thing.”

She sniffed.

“Do you think he’s a good man, Harry?”

Harry hesitated, mind still swimming with questions but most of his body undoubtedly felt numb with a new joy. The joy of knowing that there would be a new life, another member of their family, and it melted his entire insides until he met her gaze.

“I don’t know, Gem. I hope so. He treats you well, of course?”

She managed a genuine smile then.

“Yes. Always.”

“Good,” Harry agreed. “That’s great. Dear sister, I’m so thrilled for you.”

He pulled her into a tight hug and he rubbed her back soothingly, while she sniffed against his chest. He made a mental note to himself to speak to Beau more often in private. Once it sounded like she had stopped crying, Harry let go and stepped back to give her a bit of needed air if one could find any in the small, stuffy room.

“You’re the second to know.”

Harry smiled, wiping the surprise of moisture at his own eyes.

“Should we tell the others? I’ll be right beside you.”

Gemma thought for a moment, folding the handkerchief, before she got her voice back. She nodded, perhaps thinking to how Harry and Louis had seized their day and owned up to the living truth, set her shoulders, and murmured a clear “yes”.

She waited for a reaction after the words escaped her lips. Only the part about the baby, right now, not about the marriage or anything else. Harry didn’t feel it was his place to interject. Surely they would have many long conversations in private after. Anne stood up, the chair scraping distinctly against the maple wood.

“My dear, this is wonderful news. Although how, even for one second, you thought I didn’t see the doctor visiting the house is beyond me.”

They hugged for ages, both crying and laughing and talking over each other. Harry plopped down on a chair and nipped a piece of toast. Relief swept through his bones. Mabel was almost completely oblivious, happily sipping juice from a ceramic cup and let her legs swing back and forth. Eventually, Gemma said softly that she wanted to sit down.

“Louis,” Anne said, walking over to them now and reaching out for his hand. She squeezed it tightly once she held it. “This is my baby here. You know that. You take care of him, please.”

“Of course. I want nothing more,” Louis replied, leaning in to press a brief and respectful kiss against her cheek, and the sound of their sincere voices produced a giant lump in Harry’s throat. He wiped at his own damp eyes again, happy and desperately ready for a bath to wash away everything.

“Right. We’re gonna go upstairs,” Harry decided to say, standing up. “See you all for a croquet match later? On the lawn?”

There was a chorus of pleasant responses and with that, Harry turned for the main door and exited, Louis’ gentle hand pressed against his shoulder.

\---

October and November came and went in a giddy blur.

Louis spent countless days at Mistmoore, only disappearing once in awhile to visit Doncaster, just as sometimes Harry spent days at his estate even though it was no longer summer.

Harry found out that Louis still knew how to ride horses from when he was a child and together, two days after Mabel’s ninth birthday, they set her up with a helmet and gave her her first lesson which primarily consisted of Harry sitting with her and Louis walking alongside them as she rode her favourite one.

He also learned that Louis didn’t like walnuts and was allergic to a certain type of celery root, walked around barefoot a lot even if there was company and especially at night, had a fondness of obscure drawings by up and coming artists, and that he was trying to temper his terrible cigarette addiction by filling more canvases instead. He often smelled of fresh paint and smoke, in a way that Harry became familiar with and whenever they bathed together, or got caught in the rain and had a cup of hot tea, there was nothing but pure joy. They argued too, of course, like when Louis left a mess around, and disagreed over hotter topics during dinner like the state of England’s government.

It seemed to pale in comparison to everything else.

\---

During the third week of November, Harry somehow found the courage to dig through his uncle’s old study on the second floor. His mother wanted a notebook that had once been promised to her. There were a million places it could be, on the estate grounds or not, but she gave him a key tied to a long rope and squeezed his hand, telling him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t ready.

“No,” Harry whispered. “It’s been long enough.”

He stood in front of the closed door alone now, heart beating steadily, uncertain of what he would find beyond the doors and yet- once he pressed against the handles and pushed the doors inward, there was a familiar smell that instantly rushed into his face. There was also dust, quite a bit of it, and a strong smell of mustiness that made him cough as he waved a hand in the air and looked around for the window he forgot existed.

Once it was open, gentle light and fresh air poured in. Harry stood and looked around the room, eyes roaming over the bookshelves that lined the walls on opposite sides from floor to ceiling. A figure of a globe sat unturned. If there were any secret nooks or crannies, he didn’t sense them at the moment.

Harry’s curious eyes finally fell upon the desk in the middle of the room, carved of a wood so dark that he didn’t know its name. It was something he would’ve been keen to ask. He stepped around and carefully moved the large chair with four wooden legs that creaked against the ground back towards the wall.

The desk itself was neat as it had been left; only a few figurines rested along its top surface including a small, pointed statue of a raven. Sitting beside it was an ornate silver inkwell, but there seemed to be no pens. Harry ran his hands over the wood, not caring about the dust speckles, letting his fingers trail across where all of his uncle’s notes and books were once cracked open and scattered. Another vivid memory wormed itself into his mind.

On the morning of Harry’s eighteenth birthday, he waited diligently by the door, sitting on the inside steps, knees pulled up to his chin, and fingernails a bit dark from a day’s work. His uncle promised he would be there to celebrate even though he’d recently been away on another business trip. Harry waited to see the mahogany hair with strands of gray, usually kept short and wavy, his bright eyes, and the way his cheeks curved when he was happy come through the door. He wasn’t a particularly tall man and Harry was quickly gaining on him with his own height, so when he ran to hug him it felt comfortable.

They ate what must have been an obscene amount of salted pastries that day, freshly whipped cream pressing against the lines of Harry’s lips in delight and his uncle, reaching into his trouser pocket, passed over a cloth napkin for him to clean his face with. His fingers gripped Harry’s shoulder with jest as he wished him a happy birthday and pulled a present from underneath his suit.

Afterwards they walked down by the Thames river, as close as they could get anyway without being overwhelmed by factory smoke and fishing vessels, Harry kicking loose stones and jumping over holes in the pavement. His uncle trailed on beside him, a pipe poised between his lips, and launched into one of his mysterious stories that, upon reflection, frequently doubled as words of advice for Harry. This one in particular was about a long-winged bird that they noticed was flying overhead.

_“You can be anything, do anything. Just like that chap there. See how it manages to avoid the wafting smoke? Now, where do you think it’s going? Believe in your answer.”_

Back in present day, Harry shook his head. His palms slid over the edges and felt for the drawers on both sides. Each had a lock. Harry lifted the bronze key from the tie around his neck and kneeled down to try it on the first drawer. He waited for a moment once the lock clicked, then slid it open.

It was empty.

He tried the second drawer and… there it was. The notebook with the red cover and initials on the front that was described to him not even half an hour ago. Harry breathed an audible sigh of relief, slumping against the floor knowing that Anne would very much appreciate that he’d gone and retrieved it for her.

As he was about to stand however, Harry noticed something else. A discreet third drawer, hidden underneath the facade piece. It was impossible to see or feel from sitting in the desk, an empty space in front like there was nothing there at all.

He took a breath to steady himself and inserted the key into the lock. It worked.

Instead of a sliding mechanism there was simply a flat stretch of wood, which fell open on its old but still intact hinges and Harry couldn’t believe his eyes. He balked for a moment, staring, then removing the key and reaching inside. He pulled out two stacks of thin letters, neatly tied together for safe keeping but with many frayed and missing edges. These must have meant something to his uncle, Harry thought to himself. In order to maintain such a disguise. Not even the handwritten will had dictated anything about them specifically, as one might expect.

Harry stayed hidden under the curve of the desk, its empty belly shielding him from most of the light and he debated for what felt like several minutes whether or not to open them. On one hand, it felt like an invasion of privacy. On the other, if Harry didn’t open them, someone one day surely would. A stranger, even. Or the desk would be sold and they would be lost by accident. He realised that there was no better time, and that his uncle loved and trusted in him enough that he would not look down upon his nephew with any disdain, wherever he was, so Harry untied the ribbon and slid a finger beneath the still broken wax seal of the very first letter.

It was a different handwriting that Harry could recognise, as his eyes trailed across the blank space that served as a header and the date (read: October 1875) then down the rest of the folded paper, reading carefully.

_“Theodore,_

_How’s the weather in Holmes Chapel? I do hope it’s finer than the constant rain I’ve been battered with along this French coast. My traveling companion is growing tired of it. Some days I fancy it, just standing there in the flood of things. It reminds me of when I was a young boy._

_We’ve gathered some important data in the fields nearest our lodgings. What a lucky strike. I won’t bore you with the details._

_Write soon.  
_ _Jack”_

Harry blinked, setting it down and sifting through a few more letters. There were so many that it would take ages to read everything, Harry still unsure whether he intended to or not. He opened three more by chance and again each one was addressed to his uncle Theodore, but wait - they were all of the same handwriting too.

The hurried and thin scrawl ran across the page. Harry caught a few sentences on another one.

“... _Thank you for the orchids you sent, by the way. I was not two steps in the door with all my belongings at my back when I spotted them, alive and purple. That’s your favorite colour, isn’t it? It brought a smile to my face._

 _Hoping that you’ll visit soon,  
_ _Jack”_

None of them seemed to contain a last name. The letters only continued to build in length and frequency as Harry moved through towards the bottom of the pile, presuming them to be organised in chronological order. He found one with a folded corner and a tear, as if it had been read many times, and rescued it from the mess.

Harry rubbed his forehead as he read out loud.

_“Dearest Theodore,_

_I’m so sorry to hear of the accident. I know how you longed to be a father. How terrible all of this is. If only I was there beside you, I would hold you through the night. I am, for once, at a loss for words. As I write this, my heart is filled with sorrow. Only three weeks until I’m able to get away from my obligations and be your comfort._

_Until then, I pray for the future._

_All my love,  
_ _Jack”_

Harry didn’t realise there were quiet and overwhelming tears against his cheeks until he brought a hand to his face and felt the shocking dampness. He blinked and more fell. He sighed as he folded the letter back its original state.

  _His uncle had lost a child? Who was the mother? How had he known nothing of this before? Did his own mother know? And still the biggest question remained: who was Jack?_

It was only as Harry sat back against the desk and thumbed to the very end of the pile of letters, reading here and there about his uncle’s love for French literature, how he and Jack also loved bird watching and swimming in the summertime, that Jack came from a family that favoured research and science, that he discovered a letter stamped with a familiar seal.

It seemed to be forgotten amongst the others, unsent, and still waiting for someone to carry it to its destination. He held it up against the light.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he opened it.

The date read March 31st, 1880 which was barely two days before his uncle’s last breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heavy, still holding the letter up before finally willing himself to find the strength within his curiosity to read just one more.

_“My dearest Jack,_

_As I write this brief letter, you are lying beside me and I don’t want to wake you just yet. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life. Not even the most radiant sunrise or sunset compares. There are so many things I want to tell you, many days that I wish we could have together, that I [smudge] don’t know if we will. You’ve brought me more peace and knowledge of life than I thought possible, this is the truth and the truth alone. Please forgive me if it happens soon._

_Just know that I am happy, I am happy, I am happy and in love._

_My eternal gratitude,  
_ _Theodore H. Styles”_

There was something about the way the ink had dripped and smeared against the bottom of the paper as if in a hurry, as if Jack began to stir and then there was nothing but emptiness left, no more words, or life, no more sentiment - utterly nothing - that made Harry’s heart shatter.

He choked out a loud sob, the unread letter crinkling in his tired, shaking hand, falling against his lap as he bowed his head and cried. His legs kicked out with a sudden frustration and scattered half the letters in all directions. He continued crying, his shoulders shaking entirely, until he heard a voice he knew well.

“Harry? God- Harry, what’s happened?”

Louis rushed into the office, Harry’s entire body still gripped by terrible, ugly sobs. He barely managed to lift his head a few centimeters before he caught a glimpse of an approaching silhouette in the afternoon light. Louis sunk to the floor beside him and immediately pulled him into a fierce embrace. Harry couldn’t speak, but could feel himself sinking into relaxation against Louis’ chest as Louis pressed quick and reassuring kisses to Harry’s head and began to rub his back.

“You’re okay,” Louis whispered. “Everything’s okay.”

When he was finally able to catch his breath, Harry exhaled sharply and wiped his nose on his poor sleeve. He took a second to gather himself together, eyes feeling puffy and overwhelmed, before looking up at Louis.

“He - my uncle -” Harry tried to explain, lifting his hand that held the letter.

The rest of the sentence didn’t manifest but Louis seemed to be paying attention enough to begin to piece together what was happening in front of him especially having been through the melancholic mornings where Harry talked about things he didn’t with anyone else. He took the letter from Harry’s hand, carefully uncurling his fingers, and held it to one side, still holding Harry tight, as he read it from beginning to end.

“Your uncle wrote this?”

His voice was soft.

Harry nodded.

“H-he was happy. He didn’t deserve -”

“I know,” Louis whispered. “I know.”

Harry could do nothing else but exhale as he tried to temper his breathing, letting air in through his stuffy nose and out his mouth, pressing his warm cheek against Louis’ collarbone, waiting for the feeling that engulfed his entire being upon this discovery to go away once and for all.

It came slowly, Harry's uneven heart rate returning to normal, his muscles losing their tension.

“Are you alright, love?” Louis’ voice was gentle.

“Yes,” Harry managed. “I guess so. I just didn’t expect to find anything like this.” He paused to sit up, his face mere centimeters away from Louis’ before he spoke again. There were still many unread letters, sitting around them now along the floor.

“I always thought he only suffered in the end, you know, that he must’ve been alone - I don’t know. But no one could’ve done anything to save him. Not even Jack.”

They didn’t need to.

“It was never your fault, his illness,” Louis said. “Do you believe that now?”

Harry nodded once. They sat in silence, Harry’s fingers dancing against Louis’ chest.

He swallowed.

“Louis,” Harry finally murmured, leaning into kiss him straight on the mouth, lips soft and slightly wet. His own voice was barely coming out from the back of his throat, taking the last bits of energy in his body he had left to communicate one very important thought. A hand was poised against Louis’ bicep.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He broke away after they shared a long kiss and sat back, taking in the expression on Louis’ face. Louis didn’t have to say anything else, just nodded in return and squeezed Harry’s hand, something warm and sympathetic carved into the infinity of his blue, blue eyes, a smile on his lips not sad now, but reciprocal. Like he understood and they were in sync.

Like they were always meant to be so.

***

 **Louis Tomlinson’s Estate** **  
****Holmes Chapel, England  
****December 1882**

Harry awoke to find the bed empty on the other side, a warmth against his chest missing also, except this time he knew precisely where to look. He had no idea what hour was, however, but it felt too early. The birds were starting to stir but it couldn’t be that anyone else was. Slipping into his trousers from the night before, he rubbed his face with a yawn and ventured out of Louis’ room and down to the first floor, blinking against the light streaming in through the high windows.

He stood in the doorway of the studio.

Louis sat in the center of the room facing the glass doors to the outside, wearing absolutely nothing. The thin sheet he’d stolen from the bed and left Harry’s feet uncovered was draped and bundled around his waist, two of its ends hanging loosely. His knees were bent at different angles and bare feet were pressed in both thought and balance against the lower railings of the wooden stool. He made no attempt to hide any skin, dipping his paintbrush comfortably into one of the small, flat jars resting on the easel in front of him and added strokes to the canvas. There were a few covered easels in one corner of the room and Harry wondered what was beneath.

It was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

Harry forced himself to move over to where Louis was, lest he stand in one spot long enough to become a statue, and when he finally reached him, Harry stood just behind and slowly put his arms around him. It took a second for Louis to register the touch, concentration suddenly broken, before there was a curve at his cheek.

“Come back to bed,” Harry murmured.

“A new idea showed itself to me,” Louis whispered softly, “in a dream.”

He watched Louis paint for a minute or two, his arms tucked around Louis’ midsection so that Louis’ own arms were still free to move across the white space, adding dots and streaks wherever he liked. Harry closed his eyes, still feeling exhaustion behind them, and let himself press his body just so against Louis’.

They spent the days after finding the letters never speaking of it again, other than the first hour or two after when he explained everything in careful words to Anne and Gemma, who both cried too. Harry asked his mother if she knew about Jack, knew what his full name was, where he might be. She couldn’t answer any of his questions. Harry paused once in awhile during some mundane activity or a walk outside about the house to remind himself that it was a grand, long awaited exercise of forgiveness not only of himself and his own guilt, but of the universe knowing that his uncle had not suffered as much as he believed, and Louis would pause too, taking in the blank look on his face until he did something to make Harry laugh again.

He began to sway. Until Louis lowered the brush and leaned back against Harry. He opened his eyes then. He could feel Louis’ muscles becoming more relaxed beneath his touch, so much so it was as if he was only still sitting on the stool because of Harry’s bodily support. Harry ran his hands up Louis’ bare sides, his stomach twitching slightly against Harry’s running and curious fingertips, before taking two gentle hands to massage slowly at the base of his soft neck and shoulders. Louis let out a wavered breath.

“You’re making it difficult to concentrate,” Louis said.  His throat sounded dry. They’d stayed up late again, Harry desperately happy to be between Louis’ thighs.

A foot slipped off the stool.

“Good,” Harry answered, “Because I want you.”

Louis laughed airily, the suspended paintbrush twitching between his fingers.

“Not here. You know the rules.”

Harry whined.

“I hate the rules,” he said.

“Just let me complete this section before it leaves my mind,” Louis continued, sitting up straighter now and Harry’s fantasy was slipping further and further away. For the moment anyway. He hoped it would be brief. “Then I’m all yours.”

Harry sighed, letting his hands fall. He took a small step back from Louis and the upright easel, staring lazily at the freckles on Louis’ back near his spine, aware of the tightness in his trousers.

“Alright. I’ll see you,” Harry whispered.

Louis meticulously wiped and dipped the paintbrush into another jar as Harry backed away and it was as he almost left the room entirely that he could see Louis pause to tilt his head towards him. There was again a hopeful expression on his face, his lips parted and mouth plump.

Harry never wanted to let go.

“See you.”

\---

 **Mistmoore Estate  
** **Holmes Chapel, England  
** **December 1882**

On Christmas Day, everyone gathered around the tree. It was a grand, tall thing, covered in ornaments of silver and gold, shiny tinsel that draped up and down like waves on its sides. There were even boughs of holly and thistle hung on the tree’s nettles and above various doorways in the house. Beau arrived shortly after ten o’clock with a snow dusted top hat and a smile, bowing his head politely when the door was answered. He handed over a glass bottle of some kind of drink and a large wrapped box with a red bow on top. Gemma stepped away from Mabel and ran straight into his arms and Harry couldn’t help but let his lips curve up, too.

Louis spent the night. The maids had set him up in a separate room, down the hall in the same wing from Harry’s room as requested, but it was more a formality than anything else. Harry giggled quietly when they were standing in Harry’s bedroom and he asked Louis where his shoes went and Louis realised they were still at the foot of the other bed. They’d spent most of Christmas Eve alone, to celebrate Louis’ birthday in private, Louis pressing quiet, gentle kisses to Harry’s stomach and Harry in turn ran both of his hands through Louis’ unruly hair like he was giving him some sort of massage. He didn’t think he would ever forget the sounds that Louis made.

When evening fell, the carriage was readied and they had a wonderful dinner by candlelight further into town, taking the precaution not to hold hands once they were inside and seated by a window with other townsfolk. Harry wondered if he had a bit too much red wine, staining Louis’ lips with his own as they kissed each other goodnight back at Mistmoore.

“Can we open presents now?” Mabel gasped, clearly excited.

She kept running back and forth, much to Anne’s dismay and her attempt to get her daughter to eat something, between the dining room where they were served an early Christmas dinner featuring an extravagant roast of beef and turkey, with fingerling potatoes prepared two different ways, cranberry jelly, and an assortment of other side dishes. It was all so tasty and wonderful, the smell heavenly.

Harry looked up at his mother. She sighed and smiled, setting down her napkin.

“Yes, dear. I do think it’s time for presents.”

Mabel squealed and disappeared again, her long bow tied into her hair trailing behind her, sending a tittering of laughter around the table.

Everyone moved over to the parlor room with the fireplace, all the gifts quickly and carefully brought from under the tree in the foyer for decoration to a table for practicality. Louis came up beside Harry, who was taking in the sight of what seemed to be, for once in many years, a happy family and pressed a hand to his lower back.

He leaned in just close enough to press a kiss Harry’s cheek.

“I’ll show you mine later,” was all Louis whispered, letting his hand fall and stepping away to worm himself onto the couch.  It sounded... innocent and genuine enough despite the choice of words,  so Harry refused to let his mind wander to anything particularly sinful. He wanted to say that he had something in return, but Louis was already too far away.

Harry cleared his throat and joined the rest of the group, now gathered around the building fire. The double-layered red velvet curtains were pulled back and displayed the fresh snowfall outside that made the house chilly.

Soon, Mabel was tearing through various wrapping papers and already sitting beside a painted bird carved out of wood, a doll with a gray dress and long red hair, and a tin container - mostly filled with her favourite caramel sweets now that she was old enough to eat them regularly. Her eyes fell upon the box that arrived with Beau. There was a label with her name on it.

“Is this for me?” she asked to be sure.

Beau nodded, lifting his arm from around Gemma’s shoulders and sliding himself off the couch and onto the floor to kneel beside her before she opened it. He spoke in a low tone and Harry couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Mabel nodded and looked shy but happy.

Together they undid the ribbon.

In that moment, Harry looked across the room and could see a clear fondness in his elder sister’s face as she observed the blatant kindness, thoughtfulness, and surety with which her fiancé approached her immediate and most important family. One of her hands was resting protectively on her stomach, which had grown plump enough in the last few months that if anyone so much as noticed her trying to descend the main staircase (or any steps or uneven ground around Mistmoore) on her own, they immediately lent a hand.

Mabel gasped once she saw what was inside. It was a small, but still large for her young size, stuffed horse - soft and with its own fur that looked to be a beautiful cream color. It had a name tag around its neck, which appeared blank, and thick, black hair. The eyes were wide and opaque - like crystals. Harry knew she was in love.

“Now you have your very own horse,” Beau said finally, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Anne murmured. “We’ll never get her to let go of it, I fear.”

“No?” he answered.

Gemma laughed behind him.

“No, she’ll go everywhere with it. Won’t you, Mabe?”

Mabel was too content to respond, hugging the figure to her chest, eyes closed, swaying slightly as if she were dancing. She eventually opened her eyes and went up to Beau, who was standing, and reached for his hand. She shook it lightly, a bit lopsided and weakly, and said thank you. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It'll be hard to top that, won’t it?”

Beau let go of Mabel’s hand and she ran around the couch to the window, where she climbed onto the cushions and became even more enamored with her friend in the natural light, letting its hooves trail across the window sill. Harry looked up to see that Beau had turned his attention to him.

“Mind if I try?”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a simple envelope. There was no writing on it, except two words in a quick scrawl: _Harry and Louis_.

Harry looked to his sister, who shrugged and her expression didn’t give anything away so Harry guessed that she didn’t know what was inside either. He waited until Louis got up and settled onto the arm of the couch beside him before he flipped it over and slipped a finger underneath the back to open it. He pinched two pieces of parchment - thick parchment - and pulled them out.

 _The Winter’s Angel_  
_Saturday 3rd January, 1883  
_ _London Opera House_

They were actual tickets to only one of the most sought after productions in all of England. On top of that, they were box seats close to the stage and overlooking the rest of the magnificent theatre.

“But these have been sold out for ages!” Harry said. It was Beau’s turn to chuckle. He rubbed his chin and shrugged with one shoulder, sitting himself down next to Gemma once more. He looked as if he had something particular to say.

“I - I’d actually been planning to surprise Gemma,” he said as he looked down at her with brief but warm affection, then back at them, “But once I realised we wouldn’t make the big trip to London after all, I thought I would save them and perhaps - well, perhaps you’d like to use them.”

Harry was still staring at the gold lettering. He felt a prickle behind his eyes, looking up at Louis now, whose hand was gently on top of Harry’s to examine the tickets too. He swallowed, trying to think of what to say, of how to express the gratitude beginning to flood his entire body for such a thoughtful and generous act.

“Thank you,” Harry finally managed, voice cracking, looking over at Gemma and Beau now who fit on the couch together like two dove birds, “This is amazing. I - I mean, if Louis is up for it.”

Louis smiled.

“Always,” he murmured, before pressing a kiss to the top of Harry's head in front of everyone. Harry could hear Gemma sigh and awe from where she was sitting. His heart was pressing against its own walls then, wanting to expand into a bigger size to accommodate his sensation of honest, and true, love in its different forms then. Once everything was said and done, Louis took Harry’s hand and they wandered slowly up to Harry’s room.

There was something large, flat, and wrapped lying in the middle of the bed.

“Open it,” Louis urged, closing the door behind them.

Harry let go and ran to it, letting it stand up straight against the sheets and the mattress before urging his fingers to pick at the outside layer until, with an effort, he pulled off the paper and revealed a rectangular canvas.

Staring back at him was his own face and body.

It was the portrait that Louis had started months ago, that Harry had gotten more than a glimpse of that day he visited Louis’ estate and they kissed - oh how they kissed. He let his eyes roam over it; the calm, tempered expression, but lines of thought and passion still worked into the image, the way he was looking down, and neither of his hands could be seen, green eyes bright but focused. The way the fabric covering the torso was light, like melting snow, but dense and parted in front of his chest to reveal a silver necklace baring a simple cross.

Harry let out an impressed sigh.

“Lou, it’s gorgeous. I - I’m robbed of all words. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

Louis came up behind him, letting his arms snake around Harry’s waist and pulling him tightly against his own body, chin tucking itself against Harry’s shoulder and neck. He hummed.

“Oh, but I could and I wanted to.”

Harry bit his lower lip.

“Is this how you see me?” he whispered.

Louis thought for a moment.

“Beautiful, yes.” Pause. “Wonderful, unbelievable, fantastic, yes.” Pause. “Brave, yes.”

As Louis’ list of descriptive words trailed off he pressed light kisses to Harry’s goose-bumped skin and it brought even more tears to Harry’s eyes to feel for the first time ever, a complete and fulfilling intimate connection with another - and the relief and happiness that came with knowing he felt the exact same way about them. He made a noise against Louis’ mouth, breaking away from their kiss once he’d turned around.

“Your present!”

Louis laughed.

“Alright. My present. Where is it?”

Harry felt like he was scavenging and running around the entire space with a slight panic until he realised that he’d left it under the mattress of his bed for safekeeping and privacy. He exhaled and felt around for the small notebook he carried with him for countless days. He watched as Louis sat on the edge of the bed, the gift poised between his two hands. He ran a palm over it then began to untie the thin rope that kept it from the world.

Inside, on the first page, it read:

 _For Your Eyes Only.  
_ _With Love,_

_H.E.S._

Louis flipped to the next page and then the next, reading each of Harry’s personal poems aloud, painstakingly handwritten, from silly lines of cloudy skies to tales of gossiping church mice and he laughed and the corners of his eyes came to life. Harry told Louis a lot of things he’d never said in person before, especially in the longer ones that dictated coming home in an ocean storm and wanting nothing but to feel the future was not in fact a mirage like the horizon was - distant and untouchable, but near and real. He wrote about being enchanted by every part of Louis’ being, even the ones he did not yet know, and how he stood at the gates of those he was afraid to know, unwavering as could be in the face of something different. There was so much writing that eventually Louis stopped reading and simply held the small book in his lap, its pages still open.

Tears were scattered onto his sharp cheeks. Harry lifted both his hands to brush them away from Louis’ face, examining his expression.

“I hope you like it,” Harry said.

“I love it,” Louis breathed. “And I love you.”

Harry’s mouth twitched. That was all he needed to hear.

***

 **Mistmoore Estate  
** **Holmes Chapel, England  
** **February 1883**

Harry had had plenty of things thrown at his head, or in its general direction, throughout his whole life but never once a porcelain vase with a tall neck - until now. Rain was pouring all day long outside, trapping everyone inside Mistmoore, and even though its walls were grand and wide enough, there was something else stirring in the air. A tension that once was mildly familiar, now exploding.

He ducked just before it smashed into pieces against the wall. Harry met Louis’ harsh gaze, feeling a confusion and unsettled feeling present in his brow.

“Oh, we’re doing that now,” Harry muttered.

Louis shrugged without energy, looking away.

“I, for one, don’t understand why you’re angry with me when,” he said back, face prickled with an uncomfortable warmth, “in fact it’s you who refuses to speak.”

“I’m not refusing to speak,” Louis countered, "I just can't speak about that.”

“About how you load your shoulders with so much worry for your family that you don’t rest? I’ve watched you for months on end. You can’t hide it anymore, Louis. How does that do anyone any good?”

He paused.

“Do you not see that it's a cycle which repeats itself?”

“Please,” Louis breathed, “Just stop.”

Harry’s heart was pounding inside his chest. His hands were curled into fists to keep from fussing with his hair or worse, throwing a vase across the room in return. He knew that that would not help either of them and that Louis only did it in frustration that ultimately was not directed at him.

At least, Harry hoped as much. It helped in this judgment to realise that the mark was off quite a bit. The vase had landed into dust two metres away. He sighed, before rubbing at his tired forehead.

Harry thought back to the other night when Louis sat beside him in bed and explained he’d gotten a long letter from his mother, noting that they were well in general, but Tillie missed him so much she still cried about it at night sometimes, and she was concerned Margaret would finally run away from home as she didn’t know what sort of company her daughter even held lately.

“I want to help. That’s all.”

Harry held his hands up. Louis broke his own gaze and sat down by the window, the wall of rain pounding against the kaleidoscopic glass.

“I know. But it’s my burden to bear, knowing I’ve been away from them more than I ever wished to be. A hard price I pay for my freedom.” He sighed. “Harry, I’ll have you know...I‘ve gone all these years with barely talking about this.”

The laugh that escaped his lips was dry and empty. Harry moved over slowly and sat down beside him, but left a decent space between them and didn’t touch.

“It keeps me afloat somehow, I suppose. If I don’t say it, then perhaps -”

“It doesn’t exist, yeah,” Harry finished.

Several long moments of silence went by.

“I’m sorry for tossing that. Are you hurt?”

Harry shook his head. Of all people he understood the gravity of losing a father, then his uncle who was like a father to him throughout the years and in the end, and he knew that, especially with all of Louis’ siblings, it couldn’t be easy to balance everything. It was yet another thing that bonded them together so deeply, the vital and similar role they had to play. He simply wished they would become better at having patience with each other, in time, speaking their minds with more clarity, and accepting differences in opinion even in the midst of glassy eyed love. Harry also hoped, quietly, truly, that Louis would soon bring him home to Doncaster to meet everyone.

When he was ready and it was right.

“No,” Harry concluded. “I’m fine.”

Louis nodded, looking exhausted himself.

“Are you?” Harry asked quietly a moment later.

There was a hesitation and another silence, then as Louis took a deep breath and exhaled, closing his eyes to consider his next answer, Harry’s relief was waiting in the outer edges to surface. He watched as Louis finally opened his eyes and tried a smile on his face.

It didn’t quite stick.

“Yeah, alright.” He looked at Harry, eyes tracing. “One day a time.”

“One day at a time,” Harry echoed softly.

Louis stood up then as he cleared his throat twice and without further ado, or any acknowledgement of Harry’s changing expression, crossed the room with solid strides, eyeing the abstract mess he’d made on the floor in a brief hesitation as if he wished for it to disappear before disappearing himself.

His coat trailed out the door behind him. Harry sat staring at the empty archway as if it were simply another joke until one of the maids appeared sometime after and asked if he needed any help. He answered yes and sunk his pounding head into his hands, uncertain of what was now on Louis’ mind. Perhaps the best thing for now was time. A little time and space.

***

 **Mistmoore Estate  
** **Holmes Chapel, England  
** **April 1883**

Gemma went into labor at nearly two o'clock in the morning.

Harry was sound asleep until he felt someone shaking his arm as gently as they could whilst still doing what they sought to, which was to inform him of something very important happening. He opened his eyes to see Anne standing there, her hair loosely braided to one side as if she’d gotten out of bed quickly, in a nightgown and a dressing gown, a lit candle in one of her hands.

She smiled down at her only son.

“It’s time, love,” she said. “The doctor and midwife are on the way.”

He scrambled out of his sheets, not bothering to put slippers on his feet that would soon become cold, a rush and worry beginning to spread throughout his body. Gemma’s room was on the opposite wing of the house, past the front entrance and heart of it, so to speak, and there was no doubt they would not have moved her anywhere else for her comfort. Everything she needed would be brought to her.

He could hear faint voices once they approached the door, a couple of groans of pain that made Harry’s eye twitch, but his mother put a hand to his chest to remind him that he wouldn’t, at present, be allowed inside the room itself. When Mabel was born, nine years ago, he remembered sitting in an empty hallway, the intense sounds drifting through and underneath the door, until the situation was considered in the clear and there was a loud baby’s wail.

“I’ll wait here,” Harry said, glancing back to the open parlor room around the corner and down the hall slightly.

Anne pressed a reassuring kiss to his cheek.

“We’ll let you know of any news,” she said, before turning away and Harry stepped back to let her slip into the room. He turned away, swallowing the knot that had fixed itself inside his throat.

His palms were starting to feel clammy and weird. He wiped them on his trousers as he took several steps back past the floor to ceiling windows and down the hall and finally, managed to sit down in a large arm chair. Harry let his cheek rest against the side, staring out the window. Someone had lit the lamps in the room, and also the fireplace to keep it relatively inviting. The clock on the wall ticked away. His foot tapped anxiously against the floor until he drifted off into sleep.

Hours must have passed.

“Mr. Styles,” someone eventually said. “Are you awake? Your sister is requesting your presence.”

Harry clambered to his feet and wiped at the dampness on his mouth. He could still feel the exhaustion and worry set into his very bones, so deeply that he had slept through any noise. He blinked and turned around to see Della, one of the younger housemaids, standing in the doorway. She carried an expectant expression on her face.

“I- Are you sure?”

She nodded and tried to hide a smile.

“Quite, sir. She screamed it at me twice.”

When Harry entered the room, it was slightly dark, both lamps on the walls lit however. The midwife and the doctor were gathered at the end of the bed, along with a tray of items and folded cloths. The doctor was a rather frail looking man, whom Harry hoped assisted in many births prior, although he seemed focused on Gemma’s face rather than anything else, relying on touch and instinct instead. Anne was standing beside the bed looking as calm as ever, as Gemma sounded strained through the pain. He wondered how much longer it would take. Harry averted his eyes as he went over to his mother.

“Where’s Beau?” he asked in a low voice, turning himself away from the bed just in case.

“He went home to Nottingham just the other day,” Anne said, “but I’ve sent word for him to come quickly.”

“Ah,” Harry sighed, feeling a bit disappointed on his sister’s behalf and the unfortunate timing of his travels. She spotted him in the room then, her voice slightly hoarse and definitely uncomfortable.

“Oh, Harry,” she exclaimed, “Give me your hand!”

If there was any way for Harry to feel regret about his eldest sister giving birth, it was then, as he lowered himself onto a wooden chair beside the bed and she wrapped her hand around his, squeezing like a cobra found only in the deepest of the Amazon forest, until he was sure that he was losing circulation. The room felt hot, despite the fact that the windows were open and a slight breeze was drifting in. She cried out, mumbling about how she couldn’t manage anymore.

“Can’t we give her something? For the pain?” Harry insisted.

“Already did, I’m afraid. We can’t give her too much medicine now,” the doctor replied, turning and whispering something to the midwife, who stood rather unperturbed, hair in a pinned bun, and nodded.

So Harry could do nothing else but squeeze back. And press a kiss to her forehead, telling her over and over that it was alright and everything would be finished soon as they explicitly instructed her to begin pushing.

It was a surprisingly hurried process unlike anything Harry had ever seen before; so raw and difficult and emotional that by the time Gemma let out quick breaths and the midwife announced that she could see the head of the baby actually emerging Harry’s eyes were wrought with tears. He watched and whispered as fiercely and encouragingly as possible although he knew his own voice was cracking, as Gemma made it through the final, screamed pushes and then - there was silence. Until after an instrument had appeared and disappeared, a newborn baby was set upon a cloth in the middle. A loud, piercing wail filled the entire room.

Harry choked out a laugh.

“It’s a boy. Congratulations, ma’am.”

“Oh, my God,” Gemma and Harry both practically said at the same time. Gemma cried for a moment with quiet gasps, reaching for her own mother, who was stationed on the other side of the bed. The baby was wriggling, but safe, and they were able to get him cleaned up enough and settled into a warm blanket before he fit perfectly, finally, in Gemma’s arms.

Harry wiped his eyes with his sleeve, in complete awe and with a thankfulness that there were no complications.

“What- what’s his name?” he finally managed to say.

She sniffled and turned back to the baby, cradling him carefully and fondly. He began to quiet, eyes shut and unaware of the world he had just been born into, his innocent visage nothing but pink and delicate, chubby skin. His arms were so small, Harry thought, his hands incredibly beautiful. Gemma looked up at Harry. Her blonde hair was stuck to her sweat dotted forehead and her cheeks were still light pink. He tried to tune out the other voices in the room making sure that everything was still as it should be.

“We were discussing names and - we thought William, for Beau’s father, would be a perfect middle name.”

“And his first?”

Her hazel eyes were wide and he saw something very different in them than he’d ever seen before. He smiled patiently and waited for her to respond. She opened her mouth then reached for his hand again, her lips poised into a knowing curve.

“Theo,” Gemma said, “After -”

Harry didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence before he felt a deluge of fresh tears against his cheeks and his lips wavered as he lowered his forehead against their hands. She laughed softly, sounding endeared albeit utterly exhausted, and kissed his temple, just as he had kissed hers. He was so overwhelmed that he found himself unable to speak until a moment later.

“He’s beautiful, Gem. Really. He is.”

“Thank you,” she whispered back.

There was a knock on the door then. Anne answered it.

“Mr. Percy is here, ma’am.”

She stepped aside promptly and let Beau into the room, who with his tall limbs came almost stumbling into the space. He looked as if the most surprised, if not elated, of his entire life despite having several months worth of time for preparation and Gemma let out a choked hello as he went directly to her and kissed her on the mouth. Beau fell to his knee and took in the sight of his first child going to sleep. Harry stood up. He didn’t want to stare as they drunk in that new joy, the aura of a created life, done together and which bound them so dearly forever, and they began to speak quietly to each other so he realised it was his time to leave.

His mother squeezed his shoulder and he stopped to hug her briefly with both arms. She began to say something in his ear when he looked past the open door over her shoulder - and Louis, his own Louis, was standing alone in the early daylight. At the end of the long room, hands pressed together.

Harry didn’t know what else to do but fumble for the doorknob once he stepped out, closing the barrier behind him to leave the family to become acquainted, and being driven by the butterflies that awoke inside his stomach, crossed the room and threw his arms around Louis’ neck. The smell was so familiar and the touch, Louis’ hand naturally coming up to press against his back as Harry squeezed him so tightly he felt his own cheeks smush against Louis’ shoulder. Wood pricked against the bottoms of his bare feet. He felt a familiar happiness wash through him.

“How’s Gemma?” Louis asked once they pulled away enough.

“Beau’s with - er- you saw him,” Harry rambled. “She did amazing, Lou, it was so brilliant.”

“What a massive relief,” Louis commented with a smile. “Congratulations.”

Harry dipped his head.

“How is your Margaret? Did you find her?” he asked suddenly, thinking of what Louis had left Holmes Chapel and left Harry for in the first place. His own family, of course, his biggest and most precious duty in the world beside Harry himself. He couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous like he did the days prior as he lifted his head to receive an answer.

Louis nodded, looking satisfied and less tired.

“She’s safe. Gone home to Doncaster. I’ll tell you all about it once I catch my breath.” He smiled. “You can see I came straight here, dragging mud all over.”

“Good,” Harry said. “Splendid.”

Louis stood there, eyes scanning Harry’s expressive face which surely looked like some kind of mess or monster at the moment, or both, embracing him, and he lifted a free, poised hand to brush the hair off of Harry’s stressed forehead. Harry had to resist closing his eyes at the touch.

“Oh, I missed you,” Louis whispered.

“I missed you too,” Harry whispered back, nose about to touch Louis’, before closing the gap between them once and for all. Their shaking lips fit together like night and day, the sun and the moon, everything in life that had an opposite pair for itself - an unequivocal, complementary soul.

And the best part was that Louis didn’t only feel like it for Harry.

He was it.

***

**III.**

**Mistmoore Estate  
** **Holmes Chapel, England  
** **July 1883 - Onward**

**EPILOGUE**

Gemma and Beau got married in a private ceremony and they moved with little Theo to Nottingham a few months after he was born. Anne finally remarried as well, in 1884 with her own ceremony after a brief but lovely courtship with an established French-born sailor. She settled into a small town by the sea not far from Brighton with her new husband, Philip, and little Mabel by her side. Harry loved going there for holidays, the wind whipping through his tousled hair, fresh salt pricking at his nose, and resting one steady hand on his hip.

As for Rufus, although Harry loved him dearly, he had spent more time with Harry’s little sister after all and she needed someone else in her daily life so that she would not be lonely.

That left Harry alone at Mistmoore. He reduced his house staff to only a select few, including Hastings, whom Harry felt by now he could trust with his very life. Louis, on the other hand, closed the doors to the summer estate for the time being, with discussions to perhaps someday pass the deed onto Caroline, the eldest of his siblings, and moved in with Harry shortly after that.

Louis set up his studio on the ground floor and spent most of his time producing new works and selling them to galleries all around England. One of his most successful was an oil painting nearly as tall as Harry himself based on their night with the stars in the sky and the carnations in the garden. Harry kept writing, although he did not feel the need to make a profession of it, instead becoming a beloved donor and board member for a brand-new school for orphaned children in the countryside - with summer days that included horseback riding and other activities. In their spare time, they went to plenty of evening and late night soirees with Zayn and Niall or visited Liam and his growing family.

Eventually, they adopted two young dogs to help counter the empty echoes of the walls, one a spaniel not unlike Rufus’ breed and the other a larger sheepdog who loved to run through the grassy landscape surrounding the main house and the newly restored boathouse. Their names were Captain and Pluto, respectively. Harry lost track of how many times he was licked in the face on a weekly basis.

Together Harry and Louis explored several areas of the house including a handful of broom cupboards, what became Harry’s office, and one of the conveniently located guest rooms on the second floor when they suddenly yearned for a bit of privacy - in it, a small bed with an unusual amount of springs, and not much else.

One cloudy afternoon, a man showed up at the front door wearing a crisp white suit and holding onto a patterned walking cane. Confused, Harry shook his hand only to then ask for his name: Jack. The smile at his lips didn’t quite meet the squarish glasses hung on his nose. He asked if Harry resided there before Harry was able to introduce himself properly and whether he could possibly come inside, and Harry, in some oddly relieved state, nodded instantly, mind filling to the brim with all the questions he had once set aside and deemed impossible to answer.

Among them was the story of his uncle’s child, which was essentially this: a long time ago, a dear friend of Theodore’s was herself unmarried and empathetic to his situation and wanting to have a child - so they came to their own amiable agreement. Both were lost on the day their carriage overturned and caught fire in East London. The imagined, and certainly unconventional, future never came.

Jack Andrews did not speak much of himself that day or what really became of his life after the death - except, as he reassured Harry in a careful, clear manner, that it hadn’t been much of a surprise after all, having cared for Theodore daily and thus witnessed his steady decline. Jack recalled the way Theodore refused any attention but a single doctor’s visit to the estate now and again. It was, ultimately, devastating. He now lived in a growing city known as Manchester. He went on to state what seemed like several times over slow-sipped cups of tea and a cigar how pleased he was to finally be able to return, even for one afternoon and by slim chance of being in the same area, and see the estate again with his own eyes.

How beautiful it still was.

There was something else too, which painted itself across his shadowed face when Louis wandered into the sunroom unaware of company, a graphite pencil tucked behind his ear and a new sketch in one hand, asking rather loudly where his love had run off to. Harry looked over at the doorway in which Louis stood and smiled. They discussed their own lives for a short time, and how they both came to live there. Harry made sure, just before he watched Mr. Andrews eventually descend the outside steps as the sun began to set in the distance, to articulate that he would always be welcome to visit them.

Over time, Louis wrote Harry notes in a consistent, dependable manner, leaving them lying around for him to find, day or night, and frequently referring to Harry as his husband. Each time Harry found one was surely no less exciting or wonderfully warm to his heart than the last. Still, he pressed a gentle kiss to every piece and, along with others he previously saved, tossed them directly into the nearest fire where they disappeared except for in their memories.

There was one, however, on the exact anniversary of their very first meeting that he did indeed keep - locking it in the little drawer below the desk in his uncle’s old study, its metal key safely wrapped in a twine lanyard and hidden well below a pile of miscellaneous items in a secret place. He never took it out to look at it, not once, for as long as Louis Tomlinson lived at Mistmoore Estate with him, Harry knew that he was loved: wholly, truly, and deeply.

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest thank you to anyone who reads this fic! Comments and kudos are also greatly appreciated.
> 
> Links.. If you want to learn about the Labouchère Amendment and The Criminal Law Act of 1885, you can do so here: [A](http://www.glbtqarchive.com/ssh/labouchere_amendment_S.pdf) and view the actual text here: [B](https://www.bl.uk/collection-items/the-criminal-law-amendment-act-1885) // [CW: mentions of sex, prison, and suicide]


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